Pride and Joy
by GinnyWeasleyRocks
Summary: A year has passed since Rose Weasley decided to be with Scorpius Malfoy despite the obstacles. Now, it's her brother's turn for an adventure. Son of the Minister for Magic, captain of Quidditch team and prefect, Hugo Weasley has got it made. But when hapless Daisy Abbott stumbles into his world, Hugo learns that there's more to life than being the most popular kid in school.
1. Author's Note and Summary

**Author's Note:**

Hello everyone! It's been a while!

I completed Love and Glory almost a year ago, and thought I would never return to that world again, because finishing that story was exhausting. However, after taking a break with other projects, I realised that these characters still held a dear place in my heart, and another story started to take form.

Guys, I'm so excited to go on another journey with you all! :)

But before we get stuck into it, there's a bit of housekeeping to do, so bear with me.

 **1** : You don't have to have read my preceding fanfiction Love and Glory to enjoy this sequel. I say that mostly because it is a long story, not to turn you off it. This one takes place in the same universe, with some of the same OCs, so I've attached a summary and list of characters, in case anyone gets confused. But it is its own story, and as well as that...

 **2** : Love and Glory dealt with Rose and Scorpius's blossoming romance. They will still play an important role in this story, but the focus will now be on Rose's brother Hugo, as you might have guessed from the summary.

 **3** : An OC is a central character in this story. She's not a self-insert or a Mary Sue, but a character integral to the plot. Give her a chance! But if you're not into it, well, you've been warned.

 **4** : I've taken some liberties regarding the ages of characters. Jo Rowling confirmed that the Scamander children, Lorcan and Lysander, are younger than Rose, Albus & co, however, I have aged them up for the purposes of this story. I also gave them a younger sister, Lucinda. Hannah and Neville have no confirmed children as of yet, however, for this story, I have given them two daughters, and aged those up too.

 **5** : I should also note that _Harry Potter and the Cursed Child_ has come out since I wrote my last story. I haven't read it, but I'm aware of things such as Albus being confirmed as a Slytherin, etc. For the sake of consistency with Love and Glory, I won't be sticking to the canon regarding this latest addition to the Harry Potter world.

 **6** : Lastly, many of my reviewers for Love and Glory very rightly pointed out my inconsistencies regarding the use of underage magic; I have tried my best to fix those errors in this story.

Thanks guys! You're the best.

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 **Disclaimer:** Copyright JK Rowling

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 **Summary of Love and Glory:**

In their sixth year, Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy found themselves caught up in a conspiracy that went to the heart of Hogwarts, and fell in love in the process. There was an attack on the castle, during which an insurgent group called the Truthseekers attempted to reveal the wizarding world to Muggles. They ultimately failed, but the fight wasn't yet over. Alchemist Theodore Nott was curious about the possibilities of taking magic from Muggleborns and giving it to those more deserving, ie. Squibs, so he teamed up with Scorpius's aunt Daphne to create a potion that could strip magic. Harry Potter's son James died in an attempt to stop them. This threw a spanner in the works regarding Rose and Scorpius's relationship, but they ultimately decided to be together despite their families.

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 **Glossary of Characters (alphabetical order by surname)**

 **Daisy Abbott** : Orphaned niece of Hannah and Neville Longbottom

 **Cyril Abbott** : Brother of Hannah, deceased father of Daisy

 **Adela Abbott** : Deceased mother of Daisy

 **Geoffrey Alderton** : Auror, father Rufus was murdered by Blaise Zabini, sister Penny is in prison for involvement with Truthseekers

 **Henry Broadmoor** : Headmaster of Hogwarts

 **Millicent Bulstrode** : Gamekeeper at Hogwarts

 **William Corley** : Advisor to the Minister for Magic

 **Daphne Greengrass** : Scorpius's aunt, currently on the run with Theodore Nott after James Potter's death

 **Tobias Greengrass** : Scorpius's cousin, son of Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini, Slytherin entering into his third year at Hogwarts. Has two younger brothers, Will and Sam

 **Belinda Harris** : Charms Professor at Hogwarts

 **Healer Hopkirk** : Matron of hospital wing at Hogwarts

 **Alice Longbottom** : Daughter of Neville and Hannah, Gryffindor, and entering into sixth year at Hogwarts

 **Enid Longbottom** : Alice's younger sister, Gryffindor, entering into fifth year at Hogwarts

 **Hannah Longbottom (née Abbott)** : Landlady of Leaky Cauldron, Daisy's aunt

 **Neville Longbottom** : Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts, Deputy Headmaster

 **Astoria Malfoy (née Greengrass)** : Wife of Draco and mother of Scorpius, became guardian of Greengrass boys after their mother Daphne went on the run

 **Draco Malfoy** : Father of Scorpius and husband of Astoria, currently in Azkaban due to his involvement with the Truthseekers

 **Scorpius Malfoy** : Son of Draco and Astoria, graduated from Hogwarts and currently working in Wright's Antiques, in a relationship with Rose Weasley

 **Steven McCubbin** : Hugo's friend, Gryffindor, sixth year, Beater

 **Anthea Moribund** : Childhood friend of Carlotta Pinkstone, Squib apothecary, accomplice of Nott and Greengrass

 **Theodore Nott** : Former Potions Master and professor of Alchemy at Hogwarts, went on the run with his lover Daphne Greengrass after James Potter's death

 **Orchid Ottelby** : Former object of Scorpius's affections, imprisoned in Azkaban with her boyfriend Torrance after their involvement with the Truthseekers

 **Carlotta Pinkstone** : Head of insurgent group known as Truthseekers, currently imprisoned in Azkaban

 **Albus Potter** : Only surviving son of Harry Potter, mourning the death of his brother and graduated from Hogwarts, working in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes

 **Ginny Potter (née Weasley)** : Assistant editor of _Daily Prophet_

 **Harry Potter** : Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in Ministry

 **Lily Potter** : Gryffindor, entering into her sixth year at Hogwarts

 **Ryan Pratt** : Captain of Hufflepuff Quidditch team, has summer job in the Leaky Cauldron, entering into seventh year at Hogwarts

 **Carlos Santini** : Friend of Scorpius, graduated from Hogwarts, nephew of famous Quidditch player Vasco. Former boyfriend of Lily Potter.

 **Lysander Scamander** : Son of Luna and Rolf Scamander, graduate from Hogwarts and currently working as Curse-Breaker for Gringotts

 **Lorcan Scamander** : Twin of Lysander, currently working at Gringotts

 **Lucinda Scamander** : Younger sister of Lorcan and Lysander

 **Zane Shacklebolt** : Current Head Boy at Hogwarts

 **Walter Shirley** : Librarian at Hogwarts

 **Maven Tomgallon** : Oddball caretaker at Hogwarts

 **Tracy Towers** : Sixth year, Hufflepuff, commentator on Quidditch matches

 **George Weasley** : Ron's brother, twin of deceased Fred, manager of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes

 **Hermione Weasley (née Granger)** : Mother of Hugo and Rose, recently was promoted to a prominent position in Ministry

 **Hugo Weasley** : Son of Hermione and Ron, now entering his sixth year at Hogwarts, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, has a summer job in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes

 **Ron Weasley** : Husband of Hermione and father of Rose and Hugo, currently unemployed and supporting his wife in her stressful job

 **Rose Weasley** : Hugo's sister, going out with Scorpius Malfoy, recently graduated from Hogwarts

 **Francis Wright** : Metal-Charmer, owner of Wright's Antiques shop in Knockturn Alley

 **Blaise Zabini** : Former Truthseeker, father of Tobias and husband to Daphne, died in attack on Hogwarts

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 **A/N** : The above list is subject to change with the progress of the story.

The link to my tumblr is on my author profile. You can ask questions there, and also check out the Spotify playlists for my stories!

Happy reading! x


	2. Prologue: The Alchemist

**Pride and Joy**

 **Disclaimer:** All credit to Jo Rowling!

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"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." - F. Scott Fitzgerald, _The Great Gatsby_

* * *

 **Prologue: The Alchemist**

The experiment had failed.

Theodore Nott would not have admitted it to anyone else, not even to Daphne. But to himself, as he stood in his laboratory in the Alchemical Centre, he knew he must be honest.

The centre was hidden in the heart of Alexandria, and Theodore had never felt so at home in a place before. Below the glittering port and temples and dusty streets ran a parallel city of caverns and passageways. It was difficult to tell which had given birth to the other, for a crumbling arch or stone inscription in the city above ground might have seen the rise and fall of civilisations, but some of the black caves that lay beneath seemed older than the earth itself.

Day and night he worked here, among shelves that groaned with ancient tomes, among an infinite variety of herbs and powders, and among tunnels that breathed in the darkness, where he might walk forever if he chose.

The laboratory had been granted to him under an assumed name, but Theodore considered it his own. He could spend hours here conducting experiments, until his eyes had grown scratchy and blurry behind his glasses. Spending so long by himself meant that his thoughts took form and became living, breathing things, so that he was never alone.

Today, however, was not destined to be one of those days of blissful silence. He heard the knock on his door just as he was directing a stream of cold air from his wand into a tube, and called, "Enter."

Daphne Greengrass stepped into his office, bearing with her a whirl of hot, dusty air from the city above. "I assume you've heard the news."

Theodore Nott turned and studied her face. Beads of sweat stood out on her forehead, her face pale and drawn, while the neck above the collar of her robes was an angry red. "You don't look well, Daphne."

"You know I don't like coming down here," she replied, with the slightest tremble to her voice. Her sharp green eyes… the eyes that had haunted his dreams, years ago. They were still the same, even if the rest of her had changed. They flicked around his office now, regarding the network of tubes in the corner, the half-opened manuscript on the shelf. They lingered on the old photograph on his desk, then snapped back to him. "Well? You've heard about Weasley being elected?"

"It is no cause for worry," said Nott quietly, turning back to his work. "Hermione Weasley's power is waning. She will not be able to stay in office for long."

"How can you be so confident?" Daphne exclaimed. He heard her quick step, the swish of robes, and then she was beside him. "In the past year, Hermione Weasley has managed to rally all the wizards and witches of Britain around her, while Aurors everywhere are looking for the killers of Harry Potter's son."

Bending, Theodore sent a stream of hot air into another tube. "You must be patient, Daphne."

"How can I be patient when I don't know what you're doing?" The familiar whine had entered Daphne's voice now. As a younger man, he had found it endearing. Now, it grated on his nerves. "Your experiment…"

"Took rather longer than expected, I will admit." Theodore Nott straightened once more. "It is true that the Muggleborns did not lose their magic straight away, as we had planned. But those who remain in Hogwarts will find that their magic is not what it once was." He could sense Daphne about to speak again, and bulled over her, "Fewer Muggleborns than ever received letters this year. There will come a day when there are none."

"And in the meantime?" Daphne Greengrass waved a hand, almost dislodging one of the tubes, and Theodore gritted his teeth. "You work on - whatever this is? While I wait for you?"

"You know I am always happy to tell you about my work," Nott said, straightening the tube.

Daphne snorted. "Oh, is that so? When have you ever - " She broke off as Theodore put his hand over hers, directing it to a large vial.

"Do you see that black substance?"

"Yes." Daphne's voice was very quiet now, and he sensed her glance at him. "Theo…"

The nickname stirred something within him, but Theodore kept his features impassive. "Impure magic. I harvested it."

"Harvested - how?" She turned her head fully to look at him, then shook it. "Would I prefer not to know?"

"Perhaps." He smiled, then moved her hand - he felt her stiffen - over to the first tube. "Now, see what is happening here. You remember your Potions?"

They both gazed at the vapour pouring into a second vial from its tube, and then Daphne said after a moment, "It's subliming."

"Yes." Theodore Nott's smile widened. "Into pure magic." Turning, he saw the wonder in Daphne's face, and it made him almost remember - almost…

"Pure magic," she repeated softly, and his hand tightened over hers as he leaned in. She tipped her face up to his, eyes closing, and Theodore planted a kiss on her lips.

"Have faith, Daphne," he said after a moment, pulling away a little and brushing his thumb over her cheek. She bowed her head, nestling it in his shoulder, and looking down, he saw the spiderwork of grey in her hair. "We will not be here forever."

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 **A/N:** Read and review! First chapter will be up soon. Also, I'm no expert on chemistry, but I tried my best to research it and alchemy in preparation for this. Apologies if there are any errors!


	3. Impossible

**A/N:** So here we go!

This chapter went through so many redrafts, it's ridiculous. I finally got around to completing it when we were all snowed in for a few days due to the blizzard conditions of Storm Emma, the 'beast from the east'. Hope you enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** Copyright Jo Rowling

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Chapter 1: Impossible

Ethereal blue stretched above the rooftops of Diagon Alley, but down in the streets, it was dark and hot. Merchants at stalls gasped out their wares, and the passing witches and wizards ignored them. Their senses were dulled by the thick, treacly air; they leaned on one another's arms, and their cloaks dragged along the cobbles behind them.

With every step, Daisy Abbott was regretting her decision to go shopping with her cousins more and more. It had seemed the right thing to do that morning: better than being stuck at home with her books, at any rate. But now, laden down with packages from the apothecary, bolts of fabric from Madam Malkin's and an empty cage from the owl emporium, she wondered what else she had expected from a trip into Diagon Alley with Alice and Enid Longbottom.

" _Advanced Rune Translation_ ," Alice, the older sister, was reading off the school supply list as she walked. Prettily plump, dark-haired with rosy cheeks, she drew more than a few admiring glances from passersby. "That can't be right."

"You don't need that, do you?" Enid peered over her sister's shoulder, frowning. She was beanpole-tall and pale; the only thing she shared with her sister was her dark hair.

"You don't," Daisy called from a little way behind them, then caught her breath as a bolt of fabric almost slipped out of her grip. She stopped, straightened it, then walked forward again. "You're not taking Ancient Runes this year."

"Right. Of course I'm not." With a decisive nod, Alice folded up the list and handed it to Enid. Over her shoulder, "What would I do without you, Daisy?" Then, with a glance back at her cousin, "Oh, look at you! Enid, _how_ could you let her carry all those things?"

"She doesn't mind," Enid said, going red. "Do you, Daisy?"

"Of course not," Daisy replied automatically, blowing at a damp lock of blonde hair that had fallen over her eyes.

"Well, we'll take them off you as soon as we get back to the Leaky Cauldron," Alice promised, and then let out a squeal, pointing. "Do you think he's working today?"

As Enid gasped, Daisy managed to turn her head to see the towering shopfront of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, with its bright red, wrapped balconies, and the giant, mechanical wizard tipping his top hat at them. Her cousins had halted, ignoring the annoyed glances of passersby, and in another moment she came level with them. "Who?"

"Who else, silly?" Alice said, nudging Daisy. "Hugo Weasley."

"He's got a summer job here," Enid supplied.

"Surely he doesn't need to work," Daisy said, frowning. "Isn't his mother the Minister for Magic?"

Her cousins squealed again. " _Exactly_." Alice clasped her hands together. "It just shows how humble he is!"

Daisy secured one of the packages under her arm. As her cousins chattered on, she watched the wizard tipping his top hat, up and down.

"Isn't his sister going out with Scorpius Malfoy?"

"They say she saved Malfoy's life, during the attack on Hogwarts."

"It doesn't make any sense, those two being together. After what his aunt did to the Potters…"

"Poor Hugo." That was Alice. "Come on, let's go in."

Daisy Abbott snapped back to attention and hurried after her cousins as they moved for the door. "Do you actually need anything here?"

"Of course. Love Potion, so Hugo Weasley will notice her." Enid grinned, then ducked as her sister tried to flick her forehead.

"Don't pretend you wouldn't do the same thing. Even Daisy would."

Daisy made a vague sound of protest, but Alice threw over her shoulder, "Wait till you see him, and then you'll know what I'm talking about."

* * *

It was only ten o'clock in the morning, and Hugo Weasley already felt like killing someone.

He hadn't realised his family's shop had so many dedicated customers. Despite the early hour, they had come flooding through the doors, pushing past one another to reach things on the shelves, tripping over the displays by the door even though they were clearly marked, and letting their children run shouting down the aisles.

"I'm sorry, madam, but we can't sell more than one Deflagration Deluxe at a time," he was currently explaining to a witch at the other end of the counter, with a glance at the growing queue behind her.

"Why not?" she demanded, drawing herself up to her full height. In one hand she clutched that of a sullen boy who would not take his eyes off Hugo, in the other she shoved forward a handful of Galleons. "I'm willing to pay the full price. My son wants fireworks for his birthday party. Is that too much to ask?"

"Statute of Secrecy regulations," Hugo recited, "dictate that we can't sell more than one box of this kind of fireworks at a time. They're powerful, and long-lasting; the risk of Muggles seeing…"

"I live in Hogsmeade," snapped the witch. "Do you know how many Muggles live in Hogsmeade?" Pausing for dramatic effect, " _None_."

Hugo ran a hand over his auburn hair. "No matter where you live, madam, the Muggle risk factor has to be taken into account."

"Gambol and Japes would sell me as much as I wanted," the witch said, raising her voice. The line behind her shifted impatiently, a couple of them murmuring to one another.

"Yes, I'm sure they would," Hugo Weasley snapped, losing what little self-restraint he had left, "and I'd be happy to give you directions there."

The witch's expression was frozen in outrage. She opened her mouth and closed it again, like a fish.

Across the shop, Alice Longbottom grabbed Enid's arm and pointed. "Look, there he is! C'mon, let's go buy something." Giggling, they hurried towards the queue, leaving Daisy Abbott standing near the entrance. She could just make out the Weasley boy behind the counter, talking to a customer. From here, she could see that he was tall and broad-shouldered, but not much more than that. Hoisting one of the bolts of fabric higher up under her arm, she glanced to the door. Perhaps she should wait for her cousins outside. This place was rather more crowded than she had expected.

"Out of the way!" Daisy turned to see a boy nearby pushing aside a smaller girl opposite a tall glass display. He reached up, grabbed a box of Skiving Snackboxes, and then made for the door, only to be dragged back by a witch she assumed to be his mother.

The little girl was still peering up at the glass display, her small hands wrung together.

"Hey," Daisy said gently, squeezing through to her side. "Do you want something up there?"

"I - can't - reach," the little girl whispered, and pointed with a shaking finger, to a pretty pink box of glow-in-the-dark bubblegum, on the second shelf from the top. As the girl's lower lip started to tremble dangerously, Daisy Abbott hurriedly gathered her packages and bolts under one arm.

"Don't worry, I'll get it for you." The little girl turned hopeful eyes on her, and Daisy reached up her hand, grimacing. The trouble was, she had never been that tall. Glancing down, she placed her foot on the lowest shelf of the display, hoisting herself up. Her fingers stretched, groping, and grasped a packet of bubblegum.

Daisy Abbott later told herself that she should have known. After all, didn't they always say that no good deed went unpunished?

A loose bolt of fabric slipped out from under her arm as she was stepping down from the shelf. It fell to the floor and rolled out, bright blue on wooden floor. Her foot landed on the slippery fabric and she lost her balance, falling hard against the glass display. It quivered all around her, shaking in place, and Daisy, glancing up with that slow horror one always feels in such moments, saw a large container she had not noticed before, placed on top of the display. It read: _Weasleys' Wicked Wildfire Whiz-Bangs_ , and it was shaking, too. She put up her hand in a futile gesture, and then the container slipped off the display and fell.

There was a high whistling as it struck the ground, and then blooms of red and gold exploded throughout the shop. Dragons, Catherine wheels, silver rockets, long, gleaming snakes zoomed around, striking shelves left and right, and the customers screamed, seizing their wands to cast protection spells. Daisy's packages fell from her arms as she threw them around the little girl to protect her from a sparkler heading straight for them. She squeezed her eyes shut, and pinpricks of white light exploded against her retinas.

" _RENNERVATE!_ " The shout reached her ears over the blast of the fireworks, and the very air seemed to shudder. Then the whistling died down, and Daisy tentatively opened her eyes to find that she still had her sight. Tentative flashes of colour shot up around her at intervals, but the whirling, vivid shapes had gone. The little girl struggled out of her grip and ran away, crying for her mother.

Behind the counter, Hugo Weasley stood dumbstruck, his wand raised. He had cast the counter-spell to the Stunning Charm as soon as he could, knowing that it was how his uncle George always dealt with such eruptions. But now… the place was eerily quiet, but for the popping and crackling of fireworks as they fizzled out.

The quiet did not last for long, for the son of the customer he had been dealing with before jumped up from where they had taken refuge, cheering. "I want _those_ fireworks for my party, Mummy!"

"This is outrageous," his mother exclaimed, finding at once her voice and her feet. With her free hand, she shook a finger at Hugo. "What kind of environment are you creating here for your customers? Who do you think will come back after seeing this? I find it hard to believe that..."

"Excuse me for a moment, madam," Hugo said calmly, his senses returning, and made his way out from behind the counter, wand still raised. He passed customers huddled together, who stared at him from behind the rippling air of their shields, stepped cautiously over the broken glass and at last came to what remained of the sweets display.

Below it, in the midst of the field of debris, knelt a girl. She was small, her fair hair sprinkled with silvery ash, and the blue summer dress she was wearing was streaked with black. As she turned her round face up to him, he saw that it, too, was covered in soot, so that only her eyes, wide and blue, were visible.

"Are you all right?" Hugo asked quickly, and then, when the girl nodded dumbly, he advanced forward a step. "Why in Merlin didn't you cast a protection spell?"

Daisy Abbott stared at Hugo Weasley. So this was he: son of the Minister for Magic, famed captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, object of her cousins' affections. Up close, she thought she could see what the fuss was about. His auburn hair was cropped close to his scalp, and the cut lent a kind of hardness to his features. Then there were his eyes, dark brown, and the light tan on his skin that told of holidays abroad in distant climes. Even the magenta robes he wore seemed to suit him.

"A protection spell?" he repeated, and she started, coming back to earth and noticing for the first time how angry he looked. "Why didn't you cast one?"

Some customers were murmuring to each other now as they watched. Daisy moistened her lips and attempted to speak for the first time. "I… can't…"

Hugo Weasley heaved a sigh. "Even if you're underage, the Ministry can't prosecute you for using magic in self-defence." He put out a foot to stop a black, horned object from scuttling away, and seized it in his hand, turning a key. "Decoy Detonator," he said to Daisy by way of explanation, then pocketed it, glancing around at the broken glass and embers. "Now, the least you can do is help me to clean up this mess."

Hastily, Daisy began to gather what was left of her cousins' shopping into her arms. Most of the fabrics were now blackened, a few of the ingredients from the apothecary had spilled through their packages and coloured them strangely, and the books were covered in soot. But they could still be salvaged, surely... And the empty cage still stood intact.

Hugo made a huffing sound of impatience. "I meant with magic! Are you a witch or aren't you?"

Slowly, Daisy Abbott raised her eyes to him once more. A ripple of nervous laughter could be heard from those watching, and she bit her lip. Rolling his eyes, Hugo reached down and took her arm, pulling her to her feet none too gently. He stood a full head taller than her. "Come on, get your wand and help me."

Daisy racked her brain to think of an excuse - anything that would get her out of this mess… get her out before -

"Daisy! Are you hurt?" Alice and Enid Longbottom converged on her in a whirl of colour, taking an arm each so that Hugo was forced to let go. "We saw what happened!"

"I'm fine," Daisy managed to say, and then Alice stepped forward to Hugo.

"We're _so_ sorry." There was a high flush on her cheeks as she addressed him. "This is our cousin, Daisy Abbott. She's a Squib; she doesn't understand about the wizarding world…"

Her words pierced through the laughter and deflated it as though it were a balloon. Hugo Weasley's eyes widened, and then he cleared his throat abruptly. "Oh. I didn't - "

Daisy had preferred being laughed at, for now, in the silence, she could feel the pity in the stares that were levelled at her. She saw it in Hugo Weasley's face, half-surprised and half-ashamed, and found she could not look anymore.

"It's my nephew who should be sorry." George Weasley, tall and striking in his magenta robes and shock of red hair, had descended the spiral stairs to the shop without their noticing. "You're Neville's daughters, aren't you?"

"That's right," Alice said meekly, and Enid simply bowed her head; both witches were clearly a little starstruck at the presence of the shop manager.

"Well, accidents happen all the time. Bring your cousin home and look after her. I'm sorry if my nephew upset her." The expression on George Weasley's face was kind as he regarded the source of the calamity, but Daisy Abbott's eyes were fixed on the floor, her cheeks aflame, and so she did not see it.

"Thank you," Alice and Enid said together, and began to steer their soot-covered cousin out of the shop.

"Ladies and gentlemen." George Weasley raised his voice over the fresh murmuring of the crowd. "If you will allow us a few minutes to clean up, we'll be back on track shortly." His hand on Hugo's shoulder, he added, more quietly, to his nephew, "Come with me."

"Don't worry about the shopping," Alice told Daisy kindly on their way out. "Mummy and Daddy will understand."

* * *

"Have you got everything?" Scorpius Malfoy asked for at least the third time, and his mother smiled indulgently. They stood in the hallway of the Charing Cross townhouse, where the Malfoys had lived for more than twenty years. Astoria Malfoy's trunk was beside her, and she stood with one hand on the door. Framed in the little daylight that penetrated the hall, Scorpius considered, she looked much younger. Her hair was up, and she was wearing a black coat with a high collar.

"Yes, I have. You're very sweet to worry."

"I'm sure Gran will be happy to see you."

Astoria Malfoy snorted. " _I'm_ not. Narcissa and I have never seen eye to eye in all the years I've been married to your father, and I don't expect us to now."

"But it's good she won't be alone in the manor," Rose Weasley said, and both Malfoys turned at the sound of her voice; they had almost forgotten she was there, at the foot of the staircase. She was in her pyjamas, her red hair loose and shining upon her shoulders.

Astoria Malfoy inclined her head in agreement. When she spoke, it was with that note of reserve which she always used when addressing Rose. "True. With Lucius ill, Narcissa will be better for the company, even if she refuses to admit it to herself." She looked Scorpius up and down, then said, rather unexpectedly, "Look after this son of mine, won't you?"

"I will," Rose replied, with just as much solemnity, upon which Scorpius broke in with faux indignation that he didn't need looking after, and the two witches laughed.

"Daphne's boys will be staying in my parents' house till school starts, so you don't need to worry about them. But if you have any problems…"

"We won't hesitate to get in touch. Safe journey, Mum." Scorpius planted a kiss on his mother's cheek, and then Astoria Malfoy wheeled her trunk out of the door. They watched her from the doorway, and at the foot of the steps that led to the townhouse, she lifted her hand in farewell. Beyond her, the square stretched green and hazy in the heat.

"You OK?" Rose asked Scorpius when they got back inside.

He thought for a moment, then turned to smile at her. "Yeah. Yeah, I am." Hooking an arm around her waist, "Come on, let's get your things unpacked."

Boxes upon boxes were lined up in the landing upstairs. Scorpius and Rose went back and forth from there to the bedroom, wands drawn, floating them across. They pulled out drawers, dusted carpets and folded bed linen. The empty boxes were Vanished away, and at the end of it all, Scorpius barely recognised his old childhood room.

"It's nice," he said to Rose, who lay sprawled on the floor. She had stripped down to an oversized shirt because of the heat, and his gaze drifted to her bare legs before flicking to the white flowers she had strewn on the windowsill. Beyond it, the casement was stood open, and sounds filtered through: children playing in the square, the distant rumble of an airplane and the bells of St Mary's.

"You're sure you don't mind?" she asked vaguely, without turning her head. Her eyes were dreamily fixed on the ceiling overhead, which Scorpius's father had enchanted to look like a night sky when he was younger. "Me being here, I mean?"

"Don't be silly." Smiling, Scorpius checked his watch, then reluctantly rose. "I'd better get ready."

Rose remained on the floor after he had left the room. Her eyes drifted closed, listening to the sounds of the city. She couldn't remember feeling this peaceful in a long time. All summer, she had been stuck in Grimmauld Place, surrounded by the insanity that was the clan Weasley. After her mother was elected, they had temporarily moved in with the Potters, to be closer to the Ministry.

A part of Rose had thought that, as soon as the N.E.W.T.s were finished and she and her friends had graduated from Hogwarts, things would simply fall into place. But it hadn't happened like that. Only now, after having spent the morning shifting boxes with Scorpius, was her life beginning to make sense to her again. Which was strange, Rose thought to herself, and smiled.

"What's the joke?"

Opening her eyes, she saw Scorpius in the doorway, donning a black waistcoat with matching trousers and a golden watch chain. It was what he always wore for work at Wright's Antiques, where he had been apprenticed since the start of summer. "Just thinking how handsome you look."

"Is that so?"

"Mmmhmm. Though - hang on." Nimbly hopping to her feet, Rose crossed the room and reached up to adjust his tie. When she had finished, she slowly raised her eyes to his.

"Don't look at me like that," Scorpius said after a moment, with a laugh.

"Like what?" she said, making to step away, but he caught her around the waist.

"Like that," he said with emphasis, holding her at arm's length while she smiled up at him. "When I'm about to go to work." He tugged her to him, planting his hands on her hips, and Rose's hair swung around their faces. Scorpius murmured into her ear, "And you're hardly wearing anything."

"It's all part of my elaborate plan to get you sacked," she whispered back, her hands sliding down his forearms. "Is it working?"

"Yes." Another laugh tickled her ear, then he turned her chin and drew her in for a kiss. Rose caught her breath as she felt his hands move from her hips to her thighs, tightly squeezing her against him.

"I really should go," Scorpius said some minutes later. He had made it as far as the hallway, Rose tailing him, before turning to kiss her again. "Let me go, you tyrant."

" _Fine_ ," Rose said, smirking. As he got his coat, she said, more seriously, "Good luck."

"Thanks," Scorpius said, and was about to open the door when he turned back. "Oh, yeah. I might go flying with Tobias and Santini tonight, if you don't mind?"

Rose blinked, then forced a smile. Scorpius's cousin, Tobias Greengrass, and his friend from school, Carlos Santini, were not among her favourite people, but she knew Scorpius had been missing Quidditch since they graduated. "No, of course not."

"Thanks." Scorpius leaned in to kiss her again, a mere peck on the lips this time. "I promise we'll have a night to ourselves soon. What are your plans tomorrow evening?"

Rose drew back and stared at him. "It's the reunion tomorrow."

He looked at her blankly. She sighed. "You forgot."

"No, no, I remember now, you told me about it. Your parents are throwing a big family party in Grimmauld Place."

"Can you still go?" Rose said, anxiously scanning his face.

Scorpius laughed again, a more dry laugh this time. "A large gathering of Weasleys and Potters in one place? I wouldn't miss it for the world." He passed out the door, blowing a kiss back to her. "Bye."

"Bye," Rose said faintly. The door closed, and she slowly lowered her outstretched arms and folded them over her front. A frown grew on her face as Scorpius's words hovered in the air.

* * *

Hugo Weasley stood in the backroom of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, amid the clutter of lazy susans, magic mirrors and squeaking candlesticks, and stared at his uncle. "You're sacking me?"

George Weasley cleared his throat. He looked profoundly uncomfortable. "I prefer to think of it as a divergence of paths." Gesturing to himself, "I stay here." With his other hand, he pointed out the door. "And you - er - leave."

"But I only have two weeks left till school! I'm ten Galleons short of a Starsweeper Fifty!"

"Have you ever heard the expression 'a closed door is an open opportunity'?"

"No, because I'm pretty sure you just made that up."

"Well, it goes something along those lines." Uncle George lowered his hands, and sighed. Hugo noticed that there were bags under his eyes, as though he hadn't slept. Maybe that explained his rotten mood, he thought. "Can't you just ask your mum and dad to give you the rest of the money, anyway?"

Hugo shook his head. "Working here this summer was about… doing my own thing." He gestured to the clutter around them. "It's my last summer before the N.E.W.T.s."

George frowned, the lines in his forehead creasing. "Aren't you going into sixth year?"

"Yeah, well the point is, it's my last summer before I have to _worry_ about the N.E.W.T.s," Hugo amended, then heaved a sigh. "How was I supposed to know that girl was a Squib?"

"You weren't. But working here, you have to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. Never assume _anything_. You don't know where a person might be from, how much they might earn… Besides." George rubbed his forehead. "It wasn't just that."

"Oh, I suppose that old harpy complained about me, too?"

"Her," his uncle said, then, jerking his head, "And her son."

"Her son? What did I do to _him_?" Hugo threw up his hands. "Anyway, you didn't see what they were like - she was a - "

"It _doesn't matter_ ," George cut across him, and his voice was suddenly very loud in the silence of the room. "She said you told her to go to Gambol and Japes. However bad customers are, you can't just send away business! It gives a bad image to the place."

Hugo was silent for a moment, looking down at his hands.

"Then," George went on, "there's also the matter of who left that box of fireworks on top of the display." As Hugo opened his mouth to protest his innocence, "I'm not pointing fingers. But being related doesn't get you off the hook, you know. This is still a business."

Unable to help himself, Hugo blurted out, "And I suppose Albus is a model employee?"

"No, but he isn't rude to customers, at the very least." At the sound of raised voices in the main shop, George Weasley glanced at the door, then back at Hugo. "Look, don't see this as a failure. You earned some money for yourself, you learnt a bit of the family trade…"

Hugo set his jaw. "If my dad still ran this place with you - "

"But he doesn't," Uncle George said shortly.

Hugo stayed where he was for a moment more, then shrugged, passed his uncle and put a hand on the doorknob. "Fine. I'll leave the uniform back tomorrow."

"Hugo?" As his nephew turned back, George Weasley said, "One more thing."

* * *

"All right, Daisy?"

Daisy Abbott started out of her trance, meeting the eye of the young wizard at the other side of the bar. Stocky and muscled, with dark hair slicked back with gel, Ryan Pratt was going into his seventh year at Hogwarts. He was taking more of the shifts in the Leaky Cauldron recently, since Mrs Longbottom had fallen ill. "Can I get you anything?"

"A Firewhiskey would hit the spot," Daisy said musingly.

Ryan laughed as he put down his cloth. "How old are you again? Twelve?"

"Sixteen." Daisy glowered at him.

"Still not of age, so I'm going to pretend you said Gillywater."

"Oh, well. Worth a try." Daisy sighed. As she watched Ryan conjure a glass and fill it with ice, she added, "The Muggle drinking age is eighteen."

"You're not a Muggle," Ryan said, glancing at her as he uncapped the bottle of Gillywater. With another laugh, "And besides, that's not helping your case."

"I suppose not." Daisy reached into her purse, but Ryan waved her off. Thanking him, she made her way over to Alice and Enid's table, drinking some of the Gillywater from a straw as she walked. Her cousins did not look up from their conversation as she sat down.

After the incident in the shop, they had helped her to clean her face in the bathrooms of the Leaky Cauldron, but then insisted on staying in the hopes of catching Albus Potter as he came on his shift in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Daisy hoped they would get tired of waiting soon.

"Did you see Hugo's face when he realised?" Alice was saying. "I felt _so_ awful for him."

Daisy studied her Gillywater. So they were still talking about that.

"Speak of the devil," Enid said then, in hushed tones, and pointed beyond the table. "It's him."

Turning as one, they saw Hugo Weasley coming in through the back entrance of the Leaky Cauldron. He had a light brown jacket slung over his arm, and nodded to Ryan Pratt as he passed. Alice rose and crossed the floor to intercept him. "Hugo!"

"Oh," he said, without much enthusiasm, and his eyes flicked over the other two. "Good, you're here. I have something to ask you." Coughing, "Er, that is, my uncle wanted me to ask you if you'd like to come to a party tomorrow night. It's this reunion thing my family's having, in Grimmauld Place."

Enid's eyes widened, and she moved to join her sister's side. The two exchanged wide-eyed glances, and Hugo coughed again, evidently uncomfortable. Daisy, still looking at her drink, felt glad she had not gotten up, too. Perhaps he had not seen her.

"He said you're practically family, anyway," Hugo went on, "which is true, since we've known Neville so long, and…"

"We'd love to go!" Enid burst out, and Alice gave her a look. Daisy, glancing up, saw a grin dart across Hugo's features. Brief though it was, the transformation to his face was intriguing.

"Of course," Alice interjected, deliberately, "We'll have to ask Mummy."

"Yes, of course," Enid backtracked, with a glance at her sister.

"Well, you'd be very welcome," Hugo said politely, the expression on his face solemn once more, and then he glanced across at Daisy where she sat. For a moment, he looked uncertain, then he added, "All of you."

"Thank you so much," Alice said warmly, and took a step towards him, leaning one arm on the bar. "Are you staying?"

A look of alarm crossed Hugo's face, like that of a hunted rabbit, and Daisy couldn't help a smile. "No, er - I should be going." Folding his jacket over his other arm, he nodded to them both as he passed. "Hope you can make it."

Alice and Enid let out twin squeals after he had departed, hugging each other. Ryan Pratt gave them an amused glance from the other side of the bar. "Another round, girls?"

"Well, why not celebrate?" Alice said, beaming at him. "Two more Butterbeers, please!"

Daisy Abbott, suddenly finding herself in need of fresh air, got up from her table and moved to the back entrance of the Leaky Cauldron. She stepped out into the courtyard and tilted her face up to the sun, feeling the warmth on her face. Sounds of trade on Diagon Alley drifted to her ears: the rattle of wheels over cobbles, the shouts of merchants…

The events in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes were growing more distant in her mind now, though now when she closed her eyes, the light of sparklers still shone against her retinas. If something had happened to that little girl because she couldn't so much as defend herself -

And Hugo Weasley's expression when he had learned she was a Squib. The pity in his eyes.

Pity. That must be the only reason he had invited her to the party, too. His uncle, not him, Daisy reminded herself. Hugo was just the messenger. Sighing, she paced to the end of the courtyard, then turned and leaned her back on the sun-warmed stone of the building. She closed her eyes again. Her back and legs ached from walking everywhere.

"You look tired."

Opening her eyes, Daisy gave a start, seeing that a witch had appeared beside her in the small courtyard. She had not heard the door open. "How did you - where did you - "

"Don't be alarmed," the witch said quietly, and lowered her hood to reveal a plain face. She was small and wizened, with pale eyes: the palest Daisy had ever seen. "I'm here to help you."

"What - " Daisy spluttered. "What are you talking about?"

"I saw what happened in the shop." The witch's eyes found Daisy's. "How you were singled out. Humiliated."

Daisy leaned back against the wall once more in an effort to seem nonchalant, for the woman's gaze was disconcerting. The material of her summer dress bunched up a little on her back. " _That_? That was nothing."

"I saw your face," the woman said softly. "It didn't look like nothing."

"Believe me, I'm used to it. When you're a Squib, you…" Daisy caught herself, and shook her head. Why was she talking to this strange woman? Encouraging her? "Listen, I don't want to be rude, but - "

"I imagine your arrangement lands you in some difficult situations."

"What do _you_ know about my arrangement?"

"Are you happy, Daisy?" the woman asked, ignoring the question.

Daisy stared at her. For the first time, she noticed that she couldn't hear any of the noises of the street: the air seemed to have grown muffled around them. Her uncle Neville had used a spell like that before, when he wanted to talk to Aunt Hannah in private. "Is this some prank? Did Alice or Enid put you up to this?" She tried to move from the wall, but found her legs locked to the stone, and her eyes flashed back to the woman's, now truly afraid.

"It doesn't matter how I know about you," the witch said steadily. "I can promise you that this no set-up or prank, Daisy. I just want to know if you are happy with things the way they are?"

"What kind of question is that?" Daisy asked shakily. "Of course I'm happy. The Longbottoms are good to me."

"Are they?" The woman tilted her head, and Daisy saw that there were some patches of bald on her scalp. It reminded her of an unfortunate Barbie doll she had once owned. "Do they treat you as their own daughter?"

"Well…" Daisy swallowed. Why was it so difficult to just say yes? "They're good to me," she said again, lamely. Then, more forcefully, "I'm happy."

"Happy to see your cousins thrive in a world of magic that you will never be able to enter?"

"What do you know about - "

"Happy to live in a house where you are a stranger?"

Daisy, finding that she could move once more, rounded on the woman, who did not stir, her face impassive. "Who are you, to say these things to me?" To her own horror, she found that tears were pricking her eyelids, and she furiously blinked them away, summoning as much command into her voice as she could. "Leave me alone."

A pause, then the witch bowed her head. "Very well."

Daisy Abbott watched in disbelief as the witch's figure shimmered and blurred, until she had disappeared from view. Her ears popped, sounds springing up around her once more: the clatter of glasses from the tavern behind her, and the sound of her cousin's chattering voices. Her hand reached for her pocket, and found a piece of parchment that had not been there before.

"Daisy?" Alice and Enid had come to the door, still smiling. "There you are! Are you ready to go home?"

Only when she and her cousins had taken their seats on the tube did Daisy dare to look at the parchment. Alice and Enid talked on, darkness whistled past the windows of the underground train, and she drew it out of her pocket. It was a small card, and read, in old-fashioned, swirly print: _Anthea Moribund_. Below it was a picture of what looked like a giant white snake, curled in on itself, and then the words _The White Wyvern_ , _Knockturn Alley_.

Daisy gazed at the card for a moment longer, then put it away, curling her fist around it in her pocket.

* * *

The neighbourhood of Grimmauld Place had been cleaned up over the years since the Order of Phoenix had been using it as a safehouse. Now, as Hugo Weasley walked past the drab fronts of the houses, he noted that some of the doors had a fresh coat of paint, and there was even a vase of geraniums in one window.

Number 12 rumbled into being beside its neighbours as he approached, and Hugo stepped inside. "I'm home," he called as he passed the troll-leg umbrella stand in the hallway. Through the door to the parlour, which stood ajar, he glimpsed Uncle Harry asleep in an armchair with a pile of papers in his lap. His aunt Ginny was speaking in a hushed voice to a wizard's head in the flames, a notebook in her hand. Her words floated out to Hugo,

"... so Corley is claiming bogus news on the IWP report, which looks bad for us. We'll have to do damage control over the next few days - I'll need you to..."

Hugo hung up his jacket and crossed the hallway, descending the stairs to the basement kitchen. The smell of burnt coffee lingered in the air as he entered, and he was only mildly surprised to see his parents arguing at the table.

"When was the last time you took a day off?" his father was saying, running a hand over his balding head in agitation.

"I mightn't have a choice, Ron." Hermione Weasley wiped her brow. Her bushy hair was even messier than usual, strands stuck to her forehead in the heat. On the hob, the pot of coffee was rapidly steaming over, but neither of them seemed to have noticed. "If I'm called away tomorrow night - "

"This party was _your_ idea," Ron said desperately. "What am I supposed to do if…"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Ron, you can figure it out!" Hermione exploded, and then Hugo dropped his bag onto the floor to announce his presence.

"Hugo!" his mother exclaimed, with a hasty glance at her husband. "You're back early!"

"I was sacked," Hugo said flatly.

"What?" His mother blinked, confused, and his father lifted his head to regard him. "What happened?"

"It doesn't matter." Hugo crossed the room and lifted the pot off the hob, all the time aware of his parents' gazes on his back. Recoiling from the steam as he placed it on the counter, he said over his shoulder, "I invited the Longbottom girls to the party tomorrow. Hope that's OK."

"Of course," his mother said, with a note of uncertainty, "but, Hugo, about the shop…"

"It's all right, Hermione," interrupted Ron, rising from the table. "I'll handle this. A word upstairs, Hugo?"

Hugo reluctantly followed his father up the stairs. They went to the drawing room, since at present it was one of the only unoccupied rooms in the house. The Black family tapestry loomed on the wall before them, and Ron glowered at it as he closed the door. He gestured to the sofa, but Hugo shook his head, folding his arms. "I'd prefer to stand, thanks."

"Fine." His father crossed his arms too, and after a moment, impatiently, "So? Are you going to tell me what happened to make George sack you?"

Hugo shrugged again. "Are you going to tell me why you and Mum are at each other's throats?"

"Don't try to change the subject," Ron warned. "You know your mother and I are under a lot of pressure at the moment." He paused. "You know, I've worked with George, and he's probably the most forgiving employer you could ask for. Especially when it comes to family. So whatever you did, it must have been pretty bad."

"I lost my temper with a customer. End of story."

Ron watched his son for a moment, then, when it became clear that he was not going to elaborate further, sighed heavily. "I don't get it, Hugo. Working in the shop this summer was your idea. You know what _I_ wanted you to do."

"Yeah, you only said it a hundred times," Hugo muttered.

"Well, would it have been so bad? An internship in St Mungo's? I would have killed for an opportunity like that when I was your age." Ron gave a wry smile, shaking his head. "Though I wouldn't have had the brains for it." His eyes returned to his son. "But you, Hugo, you're bright. Like your mother."

Hugo rolled his eyes. "Just accept that there's never going to be a Healer in the family, Dad. Rose doesn't want to do it and neither do I."

"This has nothing to do what Rose is or isn't doing," his father said sharply. "This has to do with _you_ , Hugo." After a pause, "Your O.W.L. results…"

"I don't have to listen to this," Hugo said, and moved for the door.

"We're not finished here!" Ron snapped, and his son's hand stilled on the doorknob. He sighed. "Look, I just want you to start thinking about the future…"

"I'm fine with things the way they are," Hugo said, without turning.

"You won't be in Hogwarts forever!" As his son turned to stare at him, Ron made a futile gesture. "Yeah, you might have a lot of friends, you might be a prefect, you might be Quidditch captain, but none of that matters once you've left school! You've got to have a _plan_."

"Why?" Hugo demanded. " _You_ didn't."

"Yeah, exactly!" Ron Weasley exclaimed, and then, after his son had left the drawing room and closed the door behind him, he repeated, more quietly, "Exactly."

* * *

The heat had broken with evening, and a light pattering of rain was striking Bird Bridge in Hampstead Heath. To anyone passing by, the hazy shapes drawing in above might have been a mirage. But as they landed on the leaf-strewn walkway, they took the shape of three wizards on broomsticks: one tall and pale, one burly and olive-skinned, and one small and stocky.

"That's the last fine evening we'll have in a while," the burly wizard, Carlos Santini, remarked, dismounting and stowing his broomstick in a magically extended bag. He gestured to the other two. "Come on, before anyone sees."

Scorpius Malfoy placed his own broomstick inside the bag, and his cousin Tobias Greengrass, a full head shorter than him, followed suit. Next to go were their cloaks, and then they were simply three Muggle boys strolling through the lungs of London on a warm evening.

"We're keeping you up past your bedtime, Toby," Carlos said, as he nodded to a jogging woman who passed them by. "Scorpius's mum will kill us."

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her," Scorpius said lightly, and his younger cousin threw him an amused glance.

"You're like a different person since you left school."

"Well, I don't have to be responsible anymore," Scorpius said, grinning at his cousin. "I'm not a prefect."

"Study hard, and you might make one in a few years, Greengrass," Carlos said over his shoulder to Tobias, who snorted.

"I've less chance of making prefect than you have of making the national team, Santini."

"Ouch." Scorpius winced as they made a turn on the path, the red-brick arches of the Viaduct rearing up before them. "Low blow, Greengrass."

"Yeah." Carlos reached out to cuff Tobias on the ear. "What are you going to try out for this year, then? Slytherin's smallest Beater in history?"

"I'd still have one over you," Tobias sniggered, and then broke into a run as Carlos chased after him. Smiling, Scorpius hung back, hands in his pockets, and gazed across the glassy waters of the pond as their shouts reached his ears.

After they had seen Tobias off on the Knight Bus, Carlos insisted on bringing Scorpius to a Muggle pub close to the park called the Garden Gate. It was 19th century, wood-panelled and horrendously expensive, but somehow Scorpius found himself agreeing to round after round, despite having planned to stay for just one.

They were somewhere around their sixth drink when Carlos, who had just finished demonstrating a Quidditch manoeuvre to Scorpius using straws and torn pieces of coaster, leaned back in his leather armchair and asked, "Does he hear from her at all?"

Scorpius, staring mesmerised at the tasselled lampshade close to their table, took a moment to reply. "Er… who?"

"His mother," Carlos said, and then, on his neighbour's continued silence, elaborated, "Your aunt Daphne. Does Toby ever hear from her?"

Scorpius looked at Carlos, then shrugged his shoulders. "Dunno."

"You don't _know_? Don't you ask?"

Scorpius drained the last of his drink. "Another?" At Carlos's confirming nod, he leaned out and attempted to catch the waiter's eye. Giving up after a moment, he looked back at his friend. "I don't want to make him lie to me."

Carlos Santini's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Why would he lie if you asked him?"

"Because if Tobias has seen his mum…" Scorpius said, with a demonstrative flourish of his hand, "and if _I_ knew about it…"

"You'd have to tell Rose," Carlos finished, with a nod of the head. "Of course."

"Of course," Scorpius echoed, and then, as the waiter finally approached, "Two more of the same, please."

"We're closing soon," the waiter replied grouchily, but turned and made for the bar all the same. Scorpius raised his eyebrows at Carlos.

"This place is _great_."

"Seriously, Malfoy." Carlos scratched his head. "I've said this before…"

"Which doesn't make it any less inane than last time, I'm sure."

"... but is she really worth it?"

"Worth it?" Scorpius stared at Carlos, then looked down at his empty glass. "I love her, mate."

"I know, but, in your position, even if I loved the girl…" Carlos Santini seemed to be considering his words very carefully - or as carefully as one could, six drinks in. "I'd weigh the pros and cons, y'know?"

"I don't need to do that," Scorpius said at once. "The pros are - you know…" He swallowed, and gestured helplessly. "There's more of them."

"But her family?" Carlos pointed out. "That's a pretty big con, right?"

"You're just saying that because Lily Potter broke your heart," Scorpius said with a slow grin, and then, when his friend ignored this, "well, yeah, I mean, they're not very fond of me."

The waiter came, set two pints of bitter before them and cleared their empty glasses, all in the space of a few seething seconds. When he was gone, Scorpius sighed into his drink. "And there is this family reunion thing that Rose wants me to go to. Tomorrow."

Carlos laughed. "Sounds like fun."

Scorpius met his gaze in despair. "I had go to dinner with her parents after graduation. Worst evening imaginable."

"Worse than when you died and came back to life again?"

"Well, no, second-worst then," Scorpius amended, and Carlos gave another laugh. "But, really, her family aside, Rose and I have been through a lot."

"Is that ever any reason to stay together?" At Scorpius's sharp look, he spread his hands. "I'm just saying. When it stops making sense…"

"Rose and I make sense," Scorpius said shortly, and then he raised his pint of bitter to his lips, signalling an end to the conversation.

Somewhere in the depths of the night, Rose woke to find that she was still alone in bed. Where had Scorpius got to with his cousin and Santini? Curling into herself, she tried to sleep again, but drifted in and out of consciousness until the slamming of the front door downstairs woke her once more. She listened to distant voices saying goodbye, then the tramping of Scorpius's feet up the stairs. It was a little clumsier than his ordinary tread. Rose shut her eyes as the door opened.

"Rosie?" Scorpius whispered into the darkness. "Are you awake?"

Rose stayed still. The soft glow of wandlight struck her lids, and after a moment she heard him begin to get undressed, softly cursing as his shoes fell with a thump to the floor. As he got in beside her, she squeezed her eyes shut more tightly.

Scorpius propped himself up on one elbow and gazed at Rose, lying curled up on the far side of the bed. Her red hair was scattered on the pillow, a bare shoulder poking out from under the blankets. Gently, he reached out and traced a light pattern on her skin. "Rosie?" he whispered again.

Her breathing sounded too shallow to his ears for her to be asleep, yet still she remained still and silent. After a moment, Scorpius tucked the blanket over her bare shoulder and extinguished his wand. He lay back and turned his gaze to the ceiling above. The stars twinkled and spun in his mind until he was fast asleep.

* * *

The day of the Weasleys' party had arrived, and Daisy Abbott resolved to fill it with chores, since whenever she dwelled on the event too much, she felt sick with a potent mixture of excitement and nerves. She rose from bed, kissing the photograph on her bedside table, and opened the dormer window, leaning out.

It had rained overnight, and the air was fresh and damp. Below her stretched Bowes Road, with its row of Tudor houses, and in the distance, she could see the flat-roofed ticket hall of Arnos Grove underground station. Daisy had been too young to remember when she was brought here after her parents passed away, so it was the only home she had ever known.

She glanced back at the photograph on her bedside table. The blond wizard and his pale, delicate wife waved at her from their frames. Cyril and Adela Abbott had died of dragon pox when Daisy was only a few years old. She had been taken to her aunt Hannah's as soon as they had shown the first signs of illness, and she had never gone back.

The bells of Our Lady of Lourdes were ringing out for morning Mass, and Daisy left the window open to listen to them as she bustled around her room in her pink pyjamas. She folded her clothes and organised her desk. As she was doing so, a piece of parchment fluttered to the ground, and Daisy picked it up to see the card that strange witch had given her yesterday. She put it away again without looking at it, did her blonde hair up in a bun, and descended to the kitchen.

Daisy hummed to herself as she scrambled eggs in the pan. Breakfast in bed was always nice when one was sick, and her aunt Hannah had been unwell for some time. Besides, the chore was a welcome distraction from… certain thoughts.

"Daisy!" Neville Longbottom said, meeting her on the stairs. He was still in his plaid pyjamas, with his reading glasses on and a copy of the morning paper tucked under his arm. "Is that tray for me?"

"It's for Aunt Hannah," she said, smiling. "But there's some tea left on the stove downstairs."

"You could teach my daughters a thing or two," Neville said with a laugh, and passed her.

Aunt Hannah was sitting up in bed when Daisy entered. She smiled up at her, and her niece was pleased to note the healthy colour in her cheeks. Her frilled white nightgown protruded over the blankets, and her blonde hair was neatly bound like Daisy's own. "You're looking better, auntie."

"Thanks, Daisy. I slept pretty well last night." As Daisy set the tray on the dresser, "Are the girls up yet?"

"No."

"Of course not." Aunt Hannah smiled as she poured milk into her tea. "Still, they'll be headed back to school soon. Best for them to relax while they can." Glancing up at Daisy, "When do you start back?"

"At the end of the month, I think," Daisy said vaguely. She did not want to think about going back to school. Not yet.

"You'll be going into fifth form, is that right?"

A nod.

"Ashmole Academy is a good school, I think. And you like it there, don't you?" Aunt Hannah smiled, and, without waiting for a response, "I'll be glad to have you so nearby, when the girls and Neville are gone to Hogwarts."

 _Are you happy to see your cousins thrive in a world of magic that you will never be able to enter?_

Daisy batted the thought away as though it were an irritating fly. "Can I get you anything else, Aunt Hannah?"

"No, thank you, Daisy. Tell Neville I'd like the paper back when he's done with it."

Despite her resolution to distract herself with chores, Daisy Abbott found herself rushing up to her bedroom after lunch to look for something to wear that night. She could hear Alice hammering out scales on the piano downstairs, and couldn't help a wince as she leaned over her trunk. After putting several articles of clothing aside, she took out a pink dress with a flared skirt and stood.

Seeing herself in the dusty looking glass, Daisy held the dress up to her and turned this way and that. Yes, that was the one. Smiling, she refolded it, then winced again as she heard a cluster of discordant notes ring out from the floor below. Well, perhaps that was what wizarding music was supposed to sound like.

The day seemed to drag on endlessly. Clouds swelled in the sky and the rains came again, sluicing past the windows. Whenever Daisy heard the _thump_ of feet on the staircase, her heart leapt into her mouth as her mind reeled with possibilities. What if the party had been cancelled? What if the Weasleys had owled to say that she was not welcome, after all?

The house grew quiet as the afternoon stretched on, so quiet that Daisy fancied herself alone, and stole down to the drawing room. Small and cramped, with windows that faced out on the back gardens of the other houses on the road, it had a few dusty armchairs that were rarely used, and against one wall, the old piano. She sat down on the stool, her fingers resting on the yellowed keys, and tentatively began to play.

The notes sounded in her ear, dusty and distant at first, then, as her fingers climbed to the higher keys, they reached into her mind, gently, like the drip-drip of the rain outside. Daisy closed her eyes as she played. Inadvertently, her thoughts returned to Ashmole Academy, the school in Southgate which she had been attending for five years. The look of grudging admiration on her classmates' faces when Miss Graves had asked her to play that time: Debussy echoing around the grand old music classroom. Sitting alone in the canteen at lunchtime and trying to look as though she didn't mind. The mixture of pity and wariness in the eyes of her classmates when they saw her going up to write her answers onto the board. Their whispers melted into each other. "The Abbott girl… her cousins go to a special school… her uncle and aunt are in a cult…"

So absorbed in these memories was Daisy that she did not hear the door open behind her. She did not see her cousin Alice, her piano book tucked under her arm, stopped in the threshold to listen as she played.

* * *

Rivulets streamed down the gutters of the streets, awnings dribbled rain and the round tops of umbrellas hurried past each other. Scorpius and Rose had one of their own, though it barely helped, as the wind wrenched and tore at their good clothes.

"This is ridiculous." Scorpius swore as the umbrella was turned inside out. Rose, squinting against the onslaught of rain, said nothing. When they had reached the secluded alley, he cast the useless umbrella away and took Rose's hand. She closed her eyes fully now, wand out as they turned on the spot. The air squeezed and pressed them out of shape; they spun and spun through nothingness, and the only real thing became Scorpius's hand on hers, solid and comforting.

It was slippery underfoot when they landed in the park in Islington, and Rose stumbled a little as her feet touched the ground. Scorpius reached out to steady her, his hands resting on the shoulders of her blazer. She shook him off. "I'm fine."

Scorpius let go of her, stepping on a little ahead. Rose's eyes followed him with a little regret: tall and dignified in his best suit, his blond head was held at a proud angle, the pale striking against the dark. All around him was the dripping greenery of the park.

She was startled when he turned back suddenly to look at her, one hand on the gate that led out to the street. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Rose muttered, attempting to pass him, but he caught her arm. She looked up into his face, suddenly aware that the rain overhead had stopped; he had cast an Impervius charm without her noticing.

"Don't give me that," Scorpius said impatiently. "You've been off all day."

"I'm just nervous for the party," Rose said shortly, then looking down at her arm. "Let go."

He obliged, letting her pass him, but she heard his quick step right behind her as she opened the gate. "Why? It's just your family."

Rose scowled, staring right ahead. "Family gatherings always make me nervous."

They had come out onto the pavement now, and there was a sign for Grimmauld Place across the street, but neither of them moved. No one seemed to be around; only the occasional car passed, windscreen wipers working furiously.

"And I suppose," Scorpius said, a little nastily, "having me with you is an added bonus."

Rose rounded on him. "Well, what do you expect me to say? Do you expect me to be thrilled that you and my family don't get on?"

Scorpius's grey eyes studied her for a moment. "That's not what this is really about, though."

"Oh, really?" Rose folded her arms. "Well, then, Scorpius, do tell me what this is about."

"It's because I went out with Carlos last night," he said.

Rose threw up her hands. "I'm not your jailkeeper, Scorpius! You can stay out as late as you want. Though…" She found she couldn't help herself, and pressed on, "Though I don't think you should let your cousin stay out with you and Santini when he's only thirteen - "

"Carlos and I put him on the bus before we went out drinking," Scorpius said, exasperated.

"Oh, well, that's fine, then." Rose marched on ahead, crossing the pavement, and he strode after her.

"I _knew_ you were angry about me meeting them," he said.

"Really, Scorpius, how petty do you think I am?" Rose exclaimed as they entered Grimmauld Place. With a discreet wave of his wand, Scorpius got rid of the Impervius charm, and the rain descended on them once more as they approached the drab line of houses.

"Well, what is it then?" he demanded. "Did you not want me to come to this party?"

Rose gave a surprised, bitter laugh. "No, but I _would_ like if you had showed a little more enthusiasm at the idea!"

"How am I supposed to? You said so yourself, I don't exactly get on with your family."

There was a moment's pause. They came into the drive, Rose flicked her wand, and No. 12 came into view before them, the windows dark and staring, like hostile eyes. She turned to Scorpius, taking a deep breath. "Look, I know you don't want to be here. But you're going to have to make an effort, you know."

"I don't _have_ to do anything," Scorpius replied. His expression was impassive, and he looked away as they came to a stop in the drive. Rose blinked, and then looked away.

They climbed the worn steps, rapped the silver knocker in the shape of a snake, and the door swung open before them to reveal the hallway, cosily lit with lamps and tiles gleaming. Rose stepped inside, and as Scorpius shut the door, took a right turn into the vestibule.

There was a musty smell of old coats, and a cloth hung over where Walburga Black's portrait still hung. After years, her Uncle Harry had managed to get around the Permanent Sticking Charm by building a new room wherein to contain the old portrait, so that her shouts would not disturb every visitor coming in. Taking out her wand, Rose began passing it over her body.

"What are you doing?" Scorpius asked, squeezing in to the small room after her.

Rose did not meet his gaze. "Keep your voice down. I'm fixing how I look."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Scorpius said. "Is that really necessary?"

"Maybe not for you," Rose said pointedly, "but some of us actually care about the impression we make." She waved her wand, smoothing first the rumples on her blazer and black skirt, then vanishing the mud around her heeled boots. Last to tackle was her hair, which she had done so carefully this morning, and was now in a frizzy red mess. Gathering it over to one shoulder, she tamed it into a side braid and then conjured a ribbon. As she began to secure the braid, she inadvertently met Scorpius's eye.

He had been watching her, his back leaning against the door, and now his eyes travelled up and down, from the top of her braid to the hem of her black wool dress suit, where they lingered. "You look nice," he said at last, his voice still neutral.

"Thank you," Rose said briskly, replacing her wand. "And so will you, in a minute." She stepped forward and reached up to smooth back his hair, which had blown a little into his eye. Scorpius stiffened as her cool fingers touched his forehead, and she found herself meeting his gaze again. The way he was looking at her now actually made her blush, which was foolish, for she had seen that look in his eyes before - that hungry look, though perhaps not at a time so… unexpected.

She took a step back, and Scorpius followed. His hand took hold of her chin, his fingers gently brushed the skin of her cheek. Rose turned her face up. She could feel the heat of his body as he leaned in, and his free hand planted itself on her lower back, she closed her eyes…

Someone cleared their throat pointedly, and they looked around to see Hugo Weasley standing in the doorway. He was dressed in a shirt and tie, his auburn hair gelled, and looked annoyed.

"You lot are early."

"Hugo!" Rose broke away from Scorpius and crossed the room, kissing her brother's cheek. She had only seen him yesterday morning, as she was moving her boxes out of Grimmauld Place, but it already felt like a lifetime ago.

Her brother smiled down at her, then looked across at Scorpius and nodded. "Malfoy."

"Weasley," Scorpius responded, with equal coolness.

"For God's sake, can't you use each other's first names," Rose grumbled to herself.

"Heard there was a bit of a scene in your shop yesterday," Scorpius said to her brother, who reddened. "I trust business is back to normal?"

"I wouldn't know," Hugo responded after a moment. "I was sacked."

"Hard luck," Scorpius said dryly, and Rose struck his arm. "What?"

"Would you two _stop_?" She spoke more loudly than she had intended, and all at once the shouts of Walburga Black filled the room, the cloth over her portrait fluttering as though in some strong breeze.

" _FILTHY BLOOD TRAITORS LIVING IN_ MY _HOUSE - THE MALFOY BOY IS WORTH TEN OF YOU -_ "

"That's my cue," Hugo Weasley said lightly, stepping out, and Rose, after shooting a glare at Scorpius, followed him.

* * *

As evening drew in, the Longbottoms' house in Arnos Grove was abuzz with excitement. Alice and Enid were continually running up and down the attic stairs to Daisy's room, asking her to hold a curling iron or to button a dress. Even Neville needed help with his tie, though Aunt Hannah provided that, coming out of her bedroom as far as the first floor landing to scold her husband for his appearance.

"You're a Hogwarts professor, and you haven't learned to tie a tie," she tutted.

"I never had a father to teach me," Neville said, with a smile.

"Well, now you have me." Hannah stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, the hem of her dressing gown brushing the floor.

"I wish you could come," he replied quietly.

Alice emerged from the doorway of her room in a flash of yellow ruffles, and put her arms around her mother. "So do I, Mummy."

Neville smiled down at their daughter, while Hannah Longbottom held her out at arm's length. "You look lovely, darling."

"How about me?" said Enid nervously, emerging from the next door over and giving it a twirl. She wore a high-necked white dress, which rather washed out her pale skin.

"You too." Hannah's smile broadened as she reached for Enid, pulling her in with Alice. "My two beautiful girls."

Daisy Abbott halted halfway down the attic stairs. In between helping Alice and Enid, she had finally caught a moment to herself, and changed into the pink dress. Her blonde hair was swept up, and when she had looked at her reflection, she hadn't wanted to cringe away for once. But now, reluctant to disturb the family tableau that had unfolded before her, she started to creep back up the stairs.

She stopped when she heard her name.

"I hope Daisy doesn't mind being left out." Aunt Hannah's voice floated up to her.

"But I told you, Mummy, she doesn't want to go," she heard Alice say in a low voice. "Besides, after what happened in the shop yesterday..." Listening on the stairs, Daisy felt as though the bottom of her stomach had dropped out of her body. Her cousin went on, "... it might be awkward."

"Besides," Enid said in a stage-whisper, "We're going by Floo, aren't we? I don't think she can - can Squibs...?"

There was a pause, during which Daisy could hear her own heart thumping in her ears, and then her uncle Neville supplied, "That's silly, Enid. Of course they can travel by Floo. But it is true that she wouldn't know many people there."

"Yes, it was nice of the Weasleys to invite her," Hannah Longbottom said, with a sigh. "But maybe it's for the best." From beside her, Enid put an arm around her mother's waist.

"I'm glad you're not being left alone."

Daisy's face was hot. Her hand flew to the skirt of her dress, as though to rip it, and Alice, catching the movement, peered up the steps. "Daisy? Why are you all dressed up?"

There was a silence, as the three other Longbottoms turned their guilty faces up towards her. Daisy forced a smile as she began to descend the steps, and she saw their relieved expressions as they concluded that she must not have heard them. "I'm… er…" She swallowed hard, maintaining her smile. "I'm going to meet a friend from school."

"Isn't that nice?" her aunt Hannah said brightly, after a moment of uncertain silence. "Well, I hope you all have a wonderful evening for yourself."

"Good for you, Daisy," said Alice, with a smile, and Daisy matched it, clasping her hands together. She remained on the steps, waving foolishly, as the three Longbottoms departed; she did not follow them downstairs with her aunt, for she did not trust herself to move until they were out of sight.

When she was alone again, she stumbled back up the steps to the attic, her vision blurred with tears. Whether they were of sorrow or anger, she could not tell. Her shoulders heaved, and Daisy Abbott breathed in short gasps and gulps, crossing to the window and opening it to breathe in the night air.

It was still raining, but the drops fell with a gentleness they had not had before: they hissed through the growing darkness, and touched Daisy's hot face with gentle fingers. Beyond her, the lights of the city twinkled, and she could smell someone cooking dinner in the next house over.

She had thought she was used to it. The humiliation. Being revealed as a Squib after the accident in the shop yesterday had not hurt this badly. But now, to think she had actually been looking forward to this party, as though she were Alice and Enid, as though she were something more than what she was - as though she _deserved_ more...

Furious at herself, Daisy swung away from the window and began to take off the stupid pink dress, with shaking fingers. As she was laying it back in her dresser, her hands touched a piece of parchment, and she drew out the card from the witch, reading it again.

"The White Wyvern, Knockturn Alley," she said aloud, then shook herself. "No. I couldn't."

But the witch's words kept coming back to her.

 _Are you happy with things the way they are?_

She crossed her room to the window again, stood looking out for a moment.

 _Happy to live in a house where you are a stranger?_

Daisy Abbott held the card against her chest for a moment, looked towards the photograph of her parents once more. Then she reached up, closed the window, and began to get dressed.

* * *

The interior of No. 12 Grimmauld Place was cheerful and noisy when the Longbottoms arrived. Hugo Weasley happened to be at the door to greet them, and as he took their coats, he returned Alice and Enid's enthusiastic smiles.

"Girls, why don't you join the party," Neville said to his daughters, and then turned to Hugo as he moved into the vestibule. "Where are your parents?"

"Downstairs in the kitchen," Hugo replied, then, with a glance out the hall towards the retreating figures of Alice and Enid in their pale dresses, "Your daughters look lovely."

Neville laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't let them hear you say that."

"Where are your parents?"

"They'll be at the drinks table," Hugo said, leading the way through the hallway, which had been expanded to accommodate the crowd of Weasleys and extended family. Ordinarily the darkest part of the house, it was lit by suspended lanterns: flickering flame staring out behind black bars. They floated up as far as the landing on the second floor, where people cheered and sent them wafting back down like balloons. Music pumped through the walls of the house.

The drinks table was downstairs in the basement kitchen, whose furniture had been mostly cleared to leave room for dancing later. A wizard in black stood behind the table, pouring orders and floating glasses. Here the atmosphere was a little more sedate, and the older people talked in small groups, including Hugo's uncles and aunts. Ron Weasley let out a cheer when he saw his friend. He was clad in his best dress robes. "Neville! You made it!"

"It's all very impressive," Neville replied, pointing back the way he had come, then, with a rueful smile, "Though I think I'm a little old for the music. Give me the Weird Sisters any day."

"You and me both, mate," said Ron, with a laugh. "Your former Head Boy's in charge of the playlist, aren't you, Al? It's all just white noise to me."

Albus Potter rose from his corner of the room, removing the headphones from his ears. "They're called Phoenix Tears, and they happen to be the best band - " with a long-suffering sigh as he sat back down, "Never mind." His headphones were connected to a turntable, which in turn had been fixed with an Amplifying Charm so that the music's sound could be projected around the house. It was rather clever, even Hugo had to admit, though he had been hoping to be given charge of the music himself.

His mother came forward to greet Neville, a glass of champagne in her hand, then turned to face the rest of the room. "A toast!" she called.

"To our Minister for Magic, taking a break from serving the country for one night," Ron said, as the serving wizard floated glasses of champagne to the other guests.

"Don't be silly, Ron," his wife admonished, but went pink all the same as he put an arm around her shoulders. She raised a glass. "To absent friends."

Everything was suddenly very quiet, and Hugo realised that the music had been shut off at the same time that Albus came forward, his own glass in his hand. His voice was low, but rang through the basement. "To James."

Dead silence. Hugo swallowed, hard. He saw that the colour had drained from his uncle Harry's face; saw the way his aunt Ginny tightly gripped his arm, the way Hermione turned her face onto Ron's shoulder.

Then Neville Longbottom stepped forward. "To James." The spell was broken, as the rest of them echoed the name, until it seemed to have lost all meaning. "James. James. James!"

The Phoenix Tears song resumed playing, and Hugo, anxious to distract himself (and to keep moving, in case Alice Longbottom should locate him), left the basement, squeezing back through the hall once more. He came across his sister alone at the top of the stairs on the first floor. She had one hand on the railing, as though she were trying to decide whether to go up or down.

"Come on, sis, cheer up. It's a party. Where's Malfoy?"

With a hint of a smile, Rose pointed, and Hugo followed her gaze down the stairs to see a distinctly uncomfortable Scorpius Malfoy in the crowded hallway. An older witch had her arm around his shoulders and was leaning in to talk in his ear, liquid dripping from the glass of Firewhiskey in her hand. "I think Aunt Audrey's had a little too much to drink."

Hugo laughed outright. "You're not going to rescue him?"

Rose shrugged her shoulders, the smile dropping from her features once more. "I figured I'd leave him there a little longer. No harm in mingling."

"As long you're not all over each other, I'm happy," Hugo said, with a shudder as he recalled earlier, and then, seeing his sister wince almost imperceptibly, "What is it?"

"Nothing," Rose said wearily, making to turn away, but Hugo caught her arm.

"Hang about," he said, looking down at her seriously. "Did you two row?"

Rose opened her mouth to reply, but then Granny Weasley appeared out of nowhere behind them, pressing them both in a bone-crushing hug. She was wearing purple robes, and had two spots of colour on her cheeks. "Rose, Hugo! Are you enjoying yourselves?" Before either of them could say anything, she carried on, "Now, Rosie, your parents tell me you've moved in with the Malfoys! Is that true?"

Discreetly, Hugo extricated himself from the conversation, ignoring Rose's look of appeal. Descending into the hall once more, he came face to face with a beaming Alice Longbottom.

"Hugo! I've been looking for you all over! I wanted to thank you for inviting Enid and me!"

"Oh, it's nothing," Hugo said, with an easy smile. After an awkward pause, "Er, your cousin couldn't make it?"

For a split second, something like impatience flickered on Alice's face, but then she was all smiles again. "No, she stayed at home with my aunt." Tilting her head at a sympathetic angle, "She was really tired after yesterday, you know."

Hugo rubbed the back of his neck, wincing. "I still feel bad about that."

"You shouldn't," Alice exclaimed. "It wasn't your fault! How were you to know, after all?"

"Well, I did pay the price of my ignorance, anyway," Hugo said, with a wry smile. Alice looked confused, and he elaborated, "I was sacked."

"No!" Her eyes widened. "That's so unfair!"

Hugo shrugged, then, as a witch tried to pass them, put a hand on Alice's back to gently steer her out of the way. When he let go of her, she was still gazing up at him, and it made him uncomfortable. "Er… yeah, I suppose." With a glance at the empty glass in her hand, "Would you like another?"

"I'll come with you!" she said eagerly, but he shook his head.

"No, no, stay there. I'll be right back." Hugo pressed through the crowd. He blew out a breath as he came down into the kitchen, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Champagne?" the serving wizard said, offering him a glass off his tray, and Hugo took it, draining it in one gulp.

" _Thank_ you. And - er - a Firewhiskey, please." With an anxious glance behind him to make sure Alice hadn't followed him, "Better make that two."

The serving wizard gave him an uncertain glance, but then replied, "Right away, Mr Weasley."

* * *

By the time Rose's grandmother had finished cross-examining her about her living situation, Scorpius had disappeared from the hall, and her uncle Percy was giving his wife Audrey a stern talking-to while she tried to throw her arms around his neck.

Rose checked the basement and found that it contained her parents, Albus, the Longbottoms and an increasingly jolly Hugo, but no Scorpius. She crossed the hall again, her black skirt twirling around her as she turned, but the lights and colours around her just seemed to spin faster and faster. She sped up, pressed through, and found herself by the front door. It stood open, and out on the square, past the bounds of the Fidelius Charm, people were smoking in the night air. Scorpius was putting on his coat.

"You're leaving?" Rose exclaimed.

He turned back to look at her. Framed in the doorway, the light of the moon caught his hair and it gleamed silver. Rose tilted her head, mesmerised, and it took her a moment to register Scorpius's words. "I can't stand another minute of this."

"Come on, you just caught Aunt Audrey at a bad time…" she teased.

Ignoring this, Scorpius made to turn away, but Rose rushed forward, grabbing his arm with both of her hands. "Please stay?" Her eyes looked up into his in appeal. "I'm sorry I left you alone with her. We'll stick together till the end of the party, I promise. _Please_ , Scorpius?"

Something in his face softened as he looked at her, and finally he nodded. Rose hugged him around his middle. "Thank you." Pulling away again, she helped him off with his coat, and they proceeded into the party once more.

Scorpius followed her down into the basement, where another toast had clearly just gone ahead - at least, Rose hoped so, judging by the number of empty champagne glasses in her brother's vicinity. Hugo, a flush on his tanned features, clapped his hands together as he saw them. "Hey, you two made up!"

His words rang out across the room, and people turned to stare. Her parents were, thankfully, deep in conversation with a white-haired wizard, and did not appear to hear. Rose saw Scorpius's face blanch, and his eyes flashed into hers. "I didn't tell him anything," she tried to say, but he looked away again, his face set in that stony expression she knew so well.

"I think he's had a little too much to drink," Albus said apologetically, laying a hand on Hugo's arm, but the latter shook it off.

"Keep your voice down!" Hugo pressed a finger to his lips, and looked around. "I'm hiding!"

"Not very well, clearly," said Scorpius dryly, and Rose was unable to suppress a laugh.

"From who, Hugo?"

"Alice Longbottom," Lily replied, joining them from the hall. She was clad in a deep green that set off her long, glossy waves of red hair. "She's been following him around all night." To Hugo, "I've just told her and Enid you're up in the drawing room."

"Thank you," he said with exaggerated emphasis, putting an arm around her shoulders. "You've always been my f-favourite cousin." Lily made a face as he dropped a kiss on her cheek.

"I resent the implications of that statement," Albus said, exchanging a glance with his sister.

"You can't talk," Hugo said grumpily, turning on Albus. "You're - Uncle George's - _favourite_."

They laughed nervously - all but Scorpius - and Rose met Albus's eye. "What do you think? Time to put him to bed?" Across the room, she caught her father staring at them, an irritated expression on his face.

"Definitely," Lily said, following Rose's gaze. "Before Uncle Ron has a hernia."

"Right, then." Stepping forward, Rose put an arm around her brother's broad shoulders and glanced up at him. Even now, the height difference still surprised her; in the past year, Hugo had grown almost unrecognisable to her.

"I'll help," Scorpius said quickly, and Rose glanced at him in surprise.

Hugo only made faint sounds of protest as they escorted him up the stairs. They passed relatives who smiled indulgently to see him, their eyes skimming over Scorpius. Rose caught a glimpse of Alice Longbottom behind them on the stairs as they climbed to the second floor, and grinned.

"I never thought the day would come when my baby brother had a fan club," she said to Scorpius, and received a weak smile in response.

Hugo was almost asleep by the time they reached his bedroom, his head lolling. Rose helped him over to his bed while Scorpius got the lights with his wand. As she pulled back the covers, she glanced across the room at him.

"Thanks for this, Scorpius."

"No problem." His eyes met hers, and he smiled again, this time a genuine smile.

"Scorpius…" Hugo echoed, then, and he seemed to perk up once more, his eyes opening fully. Rose, who had been trying to move him into his bed, found herself pushed back a few paces as he straightened up, turning and surveying the room.

"Malfoy," he said, catching sight of him in the doorway. He swayed a little on the spot. "You'd better be... treating my sister right."

Scorpius looked back at Hugo, his face impassive. "I'm trying."

"Well, try a bit harder," Hugo said sharply, taking another unsteady step towards him. "I don't want you making her upset like you did today…"

" _Hugo_." Rose groaned. "It's none of your business…"

"Are you listening to me, Malfoy?" Hugo carried on, ignoring her.

Scorpius regarded Hugo with equanimity. "I am listening." His voice was dangerously quiet. "And it seems to me that since you clearly can't handle your drink, you should go to bed so that your sister doesn't have to look after you."

"Looking after! I don't need looking after!" Hugo pointed to his chest. " _I'm_ the one who's been holding it together since she left."

Rose frowned, confused. "I only moved out of the house yesterday."

"I don't mean then," her brother said, stepping forward, and his voice was suddenly steadier. "I mean ever since you got out of the car that day at Whitehall and went to be with _him_." His hand lifted and he pointed to Scorpius.

"Hugo…"

"Mum cried all the way home. She knew where you'd gone, of course. Dad wouldn't say a thing. And when you came back and told us - "

"I remember," Rose said. She spoke in a low voice, but her words curved around one another like the end of a whip. "You don't have to tell me about that, Hugo, I remember."

"You weren't there for the toast today, to James," her brother went on, swaying a little on the spot. "But I was. I saw their faces. Albus, our parents, Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny… They still can't understand it. Why it happened. And then you go and move in with Malfoy after what his aunt - "

Rose didn't want to look at Scorpius's face. She didn't want to see the effect Hugo's words were having on him. Pressing forward, she took her brother's arm roughly, dragging him back. "Hugo Charles Weasley, would you for a second get your head out of your _arse_?"

"Now I'm the one who has to get it right," her brother rambled on, though his words began to run into one another again. "I'm the one who has to be a Healer, I'm the one who has to get it all right because you've - "

"Because I've blown it?" Rose finished. She steered him onto his bed. "Go on, then, say it."

But her brother's eyes were drifting closed as he fell back on his pillows. A backwards glance told Rose that the threshold was now empty, and as she leaned down, taking off her brother's shoes, she hissed, "Are you happy now, Hugo?"

But looking at her brother's face, which was so much younger in sleep, Rose found that the anger went out of her. Gently, she turned Hugo onto his side, and tiptoed out of the room, closing the bedroom door softly behind her.

Scorpius had gotten as far as the first floor, outside the open door to the drawing room, where more guests were gathered. "I'm so sorry," she gasped out as she drew level with him.

Slowly, Scorpius turned. There was a dark flush on his cheeks, but his face was calm as he regarded Rose. "Don't be. It was your brother who said those things, not you."

"Exactly," Rose said, with relief. "You know that I don't think that way."

There was an awkward silence as her words hung between them. "I'll stay," Scorpius said at last, without looking at her. "Because you asked me to stay."

"You don't have to," Rose told him fervently. "Really."

Scorpius met her eye, and she saw the strain on his features, the tightness around his mouth. "I do." Turning away, he made for the stairs. "So let's go mingle."

* * *

The sign of the White Wyvern inn creaked in the wind, and Daisy Abbott glanced up at it.

It had stopped raining a while ago, but the cobbles were slick with wet. Daisy had been glad of her borrowed cloak making her way along the dark, narrow lanes of Knockturn Alley. The hood had prevented Ryan Pratt from recognising her back in the Leaky Cauldron, and hidden her face from curious passersby on the way: old witches who gathered in close groups to whisper together at the end of the street, staring warlocks who stood in the doorways of abandoned shops and turned to watch her as she passed.

Now, as she stood on the doorstep of a place that looked to have been derelict for years, she felt hostile gazes burning through her back. _They know_ , she thought desperately, and the sweat began to creep down her neck. _They can tell I don't belong_. Her hand burrowed in her pocket, and curled around the silver pocket watch she had brought with her. It had been her father's when he was alive; she remembered Aunt Hannah had given it to her on one of the anniversaries, when she had been old enough to feel sad about never knowing her parents. It wouldn't do her much good in a fight, but holding it calmed her. Hearing splashing footsteps behind her, Daisy squeezed her eyes shut, then -

"'Scuse me," said a gruff voice, and a tall wizard stepped past her, pushing open the door to reveal a set of stairs. Daisy stared in surprise as he began to ascend the steps. She could hear sounds of merriment drifting down from the floor above: the clatter of cutlery, the faint strains of music, and raised voices. Was the tavern open? Confused, she checked the dark windows of the building again, then, as the door began to creak closed, caught it with her foot and hurried up the steps after the wizard.

The taproom she entered was smaller than the Leaky Cauldron, but those gathered at the booths and tables did not seem to mind the closeness. They chatted eagerly, slammed their fists upon the tables and howled in laughter. A few turned to regard Daisy as she came in, and she swallowed, lowering her hood to reveal her blonde hair.

"You lost, love?" A witch cleaning glasses behind the bar caught her eye, and raised her dark eyebrows.

"I'm looking for… Anthea." Daisy swallowed hard, and tried to pull herself up to her full height as she approached the bar. "Anthea Moribund."

Recognition dawned on the serving witch's face, and with a flick of her wand, she lifted the partition between the bar and the floor and came out. "Follow me."

Daisy trailed the woman across the floor, doing her best to ignore the stares, and to a small door that looked as though it led to a closet. Opening it, the barmaid placed a hand on her back and all but shoved her inside.

It was a small, dingy parlour, lit with the pale gleam of a hovering oil lamp. The windows were boarded up, and little bites of night peered through the slats into the room. There were a couple of armchairs with sagging upholstery, and a sofa that looked as though it were on its last legs. Daisy felt as though her lungs had been coated in a layer of dust; she coughed, and held a hand up to her nose and mouth.

"I apologise for the bad air," said a voice from the shadows in the corner of the room, and Daisy squinted in the dimness. She saw a figure bent over a table. The lamplight gleamed in the glass of what looked like an old-fashioned decanter; the figure poured a glass, then turned to face her fully.

"It's fine," Daisy said hastily, feeling she had to say something to fill the silence. Her heart was thumping as the figure moved towards her. She caught sight of a painting of a running knight. The door leading out to the bar slammed shut behind her, and she suddenly wanted to run, too.

Then the figure stepped into the light, and it was the witch she had seen in the courtyard of the Leaky Cauldron. Without the hood to conceal her features, Daisy saw the patches of bald on her skull more clearly than ever. Pale eyes glimmered, like the pale gleam of the lamp. "Have you changed your mind, then, child?"

Daisy's mouth worked without a sound coming out. The witch laughed, low and rippling. In the painting, the knight was now battling what looked like a giant white snake, like the one on the card she had been given. "It appears not." She gestured to the door. "I will not keep you."

" _No_ ," Daisy said, and then started, shocked at the violence in her own voice. The witch cocked her head, and the knight in the corner of the painting stopped mid-battle, staring around at them, then howled as the snake bit him.

"Then you want magic, child?" Anthea asked quietly.

Daisy nodded quickly.

"Are you sure you can pay the price?"

She stared. "But I don't have any…"

"A gift like mine does not come free." The witch's eyes bored into hers. "I will need something. Something of yours. Something precious to you."

Daisy felt frozen in terror. "Leave now, foolish girl!" cried the knight in the painting. The giant snake now lay quivering at his feet; Daisy saw at once that it was a wyvern. The White Wyvern. _Of course_.

"Something precious to you," the witch continued, and all at once Daisy knew. She stared at the floor and drew out the silver watch from her pocket.

"Something like this?" she said in a low voice. "It was my father's."

"Your father's." There was the slightest note of amusement to the witch's voice, then it grew somber once more. "Yes. That will do."

Daisy did not look as the watch was taken out of her hand, though out of the corner of her eye caught the gleam of silver in the lamp. She stayed staring at the floor, even as she heard the clink of glass and the swish of robes, as the witch took a step nearer to her.

"The first thing you must do now," Anthea said calmly, "is drink this."

Daisy looked up, saw the glass of amber liquid in the witch's hand, and frowned. "Firewhiskey?"

The witch smiled, and in her other hand drew out a glass vial, in which a foul-looking black substance swirled. She poured it into the drink, and Daisy watched in fascination as the black floated to the top of the liquid, like a coating of oil. Wordlessly, she took the glass.

"Do not be tempted into rashness by her nefarious arts!" came a shout from the knight.

The witch turned her head slightly to regard the speaker. "Sir Cadogan. Must you always interfere?" Her eyes returned to Daisy, and now they glittered strangely. "But you should heed his words. This is no decision to be taken lightly."

"I know that," Daisy Abbott began, and her voice sounded impossibly calm to her own ears. She stopped, then drew a breath and looked at the knight named Sir Cadogan. "But if I leave now, will my life get any better?"

There was a silence. The wyvern in the portrait was still twitching, and the knight slashed at it with his sword. When it was still at last, he looked back at Daisy, who returned her own gaze to the glass.

"Can either of you tell me if it will?" she continued, sensing the witch's gaze on her, too. "Because I've never fitted in anywhere." Her voice broke a little, and she swallowed, angrily blinking away her tears. "Not in the Muggle world, or in the magic one. But now I have a chance, and I want to take it." Turning back to the witch, "Whatever the cost."

The knight looked troubled, but still did not say a word. Light shifted over Anthea Moribund's features. "Now you see, child. The life of a Squib is a cruel one, but it does not have to be so."

Daisy nodded, and raised the glass to her lips. She almost spat the liquid out again, for it tasted like rotten eggs and something worse, but, meeting the witch's eyes, forced herself to swallow, placing a supporting hand on her stomach. When the glass was empty, she lowered it and looked across at Anthea, then down at her hands.

"I don't feel anything."

"No," the witch said, "You won't, at first. Now you must give me your hand, child."

Daisy Abbott hesitated only the briefest of moments before obeying. She heard the knight in the painting give a moan, then the witch's hand enclosed hers, rough as leather. Her palm was roughly turned over. In the next instant, white-hot brands were slicing down her skin - the room whirled around her - she opened her mouth to scream but found no sound came out -

It seemed to her then that the lamp in the parlour blew out, leaving them all in darkness. Terror gripped Daisy, and the glass slipped from her hand, shattering. She groped around blindly, but could not find the light. Liquid of fire ran through her, and she shuddered all over before falling - falling - falling… The floor opened beneath her to let her through, and she screamed through darkness.

* * *

 **A/N:** Read and review :) I've attached a list below of songs that inspired this chapter. The playlist for Pride and Joy will be up on my tumblr soon.

 **Songs:** "In My Own Little Corner" and "Impossible" - Rodgers and Hammerstein, Cinderella

"Friends on the Other Side" - Randy Newman, Princess and the Frog

"Sing, Sweet Nightingale" - Oliver Wallace and Paul Smith, Cinderella (1950)

"Superboy and the Invisible Girl" - Next to Normal, Brian Yorkey, Tom Kitt


	4. Strange Magic

**A/N:** Hello, all!

So if anyone is wondering, this story is currently planned to be a good bit shorter than Love and Glory. We'll see how it turns out, of course, but that's the general idea. Updating-wise, I can't give an exact estimate, but it will be somewhere around once a month.

If you have any questions, do PM me or visit my tumblr page! Also, thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far!

 **Disclaimer** : Copyright JK Rowling (with due credit to the Electric Light Orchestra)

* * *

Chapter 2: Strange Magic

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath.

"Minister Weasley?" Her Auror turned in the car seat. His fair hair was carefully slicked back over his scalp, and she could see that he was already losing a little on top. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine, Geoffrey," she told him, forcing a smile. "Just give me a moment."

Geoffrey Alderton gave a murmur of assent and turned back in his seat, exchanging a glance with the chauffeur. Distantly, Hermione sensed his anxiety to be gone; the meeting started at half ten, and the chairperson of the IWP was not known for his patience.

But getting out of the car now, before she had sufficiently gathered herself, was out of the question. She looked the part, with her brown hair neatly swept back and her ceremonial robes, but she did not feel it. She had not felt it since she had woken up that morning feeling as though she had run a marathon in her sleep.

The party had not helped matters, of course, but Hermione knew in her heart that was not it. Ron had been such a help, taking as many of the hosting responsibilities as he could, and the children, too… Albus and Lily and Rose and Hugo - well - she frowned. Perhaps not Hugo. He had rather overdone it last night with the Firewhiskeys.

Then again, everyone was allowed a little bit of fun, she reminded herself, and for the first time, hazarded a glance out the window. The sleek black Jaguar was parked on a country lane strewn with leaves. In the distance behind them rose the rooftops and steeple of the village, and before them an abandoned hotel. Starkly ugly in its 1970s architecture, it towered over the Surrey countryside, all sharp elbows and frowns. It was here that the British branch of the International Wizarding Police was located.

Would they able to sense it, when they saw her? _No._ Hermione looked away rapidly. There were wrinkles on the backs of her hands that always surprised her when she saw them; she studied them now, ignoring the rustling robes of Geoffrey as he fidgeted in the front seat, the movements of the chauffeur as he fiddled with the radio station.

No one knew, Hermione Weasley reminded herself. No one but her. And she intended to keep it that way, until she had fixed the problem. In the meantime, she could still carry out her duties; it was not as though it changed everything.

Though it certainly made getting around a little harder. It was a good thing Geoffrey always insisted on their travelling in the Ministerial car. He said it was more dignified than Floo or Portkey, but Hermione knew it was of her safety that he was thinking. One couldn't know, after all, when Apparating, who might be waiting on the other side.

"Minister?" Geoffrey again. Hermione snapped back to attention. "It's half past."

"Very good." Smoothing the front of her robes, Hermione gave a brisk nod. Geoffrey slid out of the seat on her cue and came around to her side, his robes flapping in the wind. He opened her car door, and enclosed her with his arm as she stepped out.

"I'm going to put a Shield around us, Minister, as we walk to the door," he told her, his eyes scanning their surroundings for any threat.

"If you're sure it's necessary, Geoffrey," Hermione said mildly. "I can cast it if you wish." Her hand moved for the pocket of her cloak, but Geoffrey Alderton drew his own wand first. Just as she had known he would. He moved it in a circle around them, and the air rippled.

A good thing, too, that he had not called her bluff, Hermione Weasley thought to herself as they began to move towards the door of the derelict building, the wind pummelling their faces. She had left her wand behind in the car.

It was not much use to her anymore, after all.

* * *

The Longbottoms of Arnos Grove were enjoying a perfectly regular morning until they saw Daisy Abbott floating above her bed.

Well, perhaps the morning had not been _perfectly_ regular. For one thing, Daisy would normally have been up before any of them, excepting her aunt, but Neville Longbottom descended the stairs into his kitchen to find only his daughters at the table, drinking pumpkin juice and trading stories about the night before at Grimmauld Place. The wireless was on, and he could hear the voice of a gleeful reporter on the WWN in the background.

"Did you see Rose Weasley's dress? She looked like she was at a funeral."

" _I_ liked it. But poor Hugo…"

"I _know_. He was so drunk! It was adorable."

"The Daily Prophet _has come under criticism from Advisor to the Minister William Corley for publishing a report submitted by a former member of the International Wizarding Police, which the Advisor claims to be 'bogus news'..._ "

His wife called him upstairs to her bedroom before the WWN report had even finished.

"Do you hear that?" Hannah Longbottom said, propping herself up on her pillows and frowning at him.

Standing by her bedside in his flannel pyjamas, Neville Longbottom frowned, but then he heard it. The high _plink-plink_ floating towards them through the walls. "It's the piano."

"I can tell," Hannah said, a little impatiently. "But who's playing?"

Neville thought of his daughters, having breakfast downstairs. "It must be Daisy."

"I didn't know she was up yet." Sighing, his wife settled back on her pillows. "Can you ask her to stop? It's a little early, and my head hurts."

Neville smiled at his wife, promised her that a cup of tea was imminent, and went to oblige her wishes. He opened the door to the drawing room and stopped in the threshold, his hand on the door. The lid of the piano was up, the white notes pressed in sequence, but no one was playing. Music floated towards him, enveloping him in its grandeur, and he recognised the tune as one Daisy had played before… but the room was empty, and no one sat on the stool.

Even as he watched, the yellowed page of the book that stood on the music rack was turned by some invisible hand. The curtains around the window fluttered, and Neville backed out of the room, too disconcerted to do much more than stare. He backed right into his wife, who stood on the landing in her nightgown. "Hannah! What are you doing out of bed?"

"Why is it getting louder?" she asked, ignoring this, and her husband gave a nervous laugh.

"I think - er - my love, that we might have a ghost."

"A ghost?" repeated Alice Longbottom, appearing on the stairs with Enid at her heels. Her curly black hair was tousled over her forehead. "What's going on?"

"Nothing - nothing," Neville said quickly, and just like that, the music stopped. For a moment, the four of them stood frozen. Then a strange, snapping sound: really, it had two parts: _Creak - snap_. _Creak_ \- _snap_. _Creak_ -

 _Snap._ The Longbottoms turned as one to regard the stairs to the attic room, from which this sound seemed to be emanating. _Creak - snap. Creak_ -

"Stay here," Neville told his wife and daughters. He noticed that Hannah had brought her wand with her, and drew it now as she gathered Alice and Enid closer to her. "I'm going to check on Daisy." As he ascended the stairs, he put his hand on his own wand in his pocket, and tried to control his whirling thoughts.

The door to the attic room stood fast when he tried it, and he had to force it open with his shoulder. The first thing he saw was the dormer window, which appeared to be caught in a cycle of opening and shutting. It drew towards him, letting in a burst of air, and then snapped to, so hard that the pane of glass trembled every time.

But Neville did not look long at the window, for there was something infinitely more alarming for his gaze to rest upon: his niece, suspended a few feet above her bed, her arms outstretched and the material of her nightgown hanging down beneath her. The morning sunlight filtered in the window in such a way that her shadow was cast on the slanted ceiling of the attic, vast and dark and looming. She was quivering, very slightly, and as her face turned towards the door, Neville saw her eyes, wide and terrified.

His mind flew to Dark Curses - Katie Bell and the opal necklace in his sixth year at Hogwarts - and suddenly he was Neville Longbottom of Dumbledore's Army once more. Whipping out his wand, he shouted every counter-curse he knew.

The flashes of light illuminated the attic room, but they only bounced off Daisy Abbott's floating figure, and she remained where she was. Now, however, her terror seemed to have increased, and she began to struggle in the air, kicking out against whatever force held her. Neville watched uncomprehendingly as the doors of the wardrobe in the corner of the room flew open, and a pink dress walked its way out, material fluttering. The dormer window snapped to one more time, and then the glass shattered: its shards gleaming in the sun before they fell to the floor. Daisy Abbott started screaming.

"It's no Curse!" Neville turned to see that his wife had appeared at his elbow. He had not time to be angry at her for disobeying his injunction to stay, for her very touch brought him calmness. As Hannah Longbottom held up her own wand and met his gaze, he finally understood. "It's her. _She's_ causing it."

Neville Longbottom looked back at Daisy Abbott, and nodded slowly. Then he and his wife raised their wands and shouted together, " _Finite Incantatem_!"

Slowly, Daisy Abbott floated back down to rest on her bed, and the doors of the wardrobe closed once more. Then there was silence, but for the sounds of the city coming in through the broken window. The rush of traffic, the bells of the church, and the shouts of neighbours. Neville and Hannah exchanged a glance, and then stepped forward to where their niece lay.

* * *

It seemed to Rose Weasley that the people working at the _Daily Prophet_ office never took a break from the news. Her hopes of enjoying a quiet cup of coffee were quickly dashed when she entered the canteen at midday to find it teeming with staff, all listening to the WWN. Some were floating notepads in front of them, on which quills were rapidly scrawling, while the voice of William Corley filled the room. The windows were steamed up, the air muggy and warm with the presence of so many people.

Rose attempted to weave her way around the large behind of a wizard she recognised as the senior sports correspondent, Tristan Cuffe. Since she had begun her internship with the paper back in June, she had been dealing with him a lot more than she would have liked. Now she endeavoured to avoid his eye, for she could think of nothing worse than being put on another Quidditch story...

Why was it that, just because she was fresh out of Hogwarts, they assumed Quidditch was something that interested her? She didn't know the first thing about the sport.

Huffing with impatience as Cuffe remained firmly wedged in her path, Rose caught the eye of her aunt Ginny, who stood by the door. She was smirking at her niece's predicament, and beckoned her over.

"Corley making another bigoted speech?" Rose asked in a low voice as she joined her.

The other witch shook her head, her smile fading. "Unfortunately not. _That_ we could handle. But he's claiming bogus news on the IWP report."

"The report that claimed that he has ties to the American Magical Congress?" Rose whispered.

Ginny Potter gave a confirming nod, then pressed a finger to her lips, and the Advisor's voice filtered through to Rose's consciousness once more, each word bitten out with fervour. " _The Umfraville campaign spread these lies about my link to MACUSA to hurt Minister Weasley's chances in the election. As we can see, they weren't successful, and the report issued by the International Wizarding Police has now been discredited. But I demand that whoever funded this report come forward._.."

The newsreader's voice returned, there was a general movement as people began to file out of the room, talking amongst themselves. Rose turned to her aunt. "But wasn't that report published months ago?"

"During your mum's campaign, yes."

"So why is Corley only talking about it now?"

Her aunt moved to the counter as the way cleared of people and poured herself some coffee. Looking around, she said grimly, "You heard him. The report has finally been discredited, by the IWP itself. They've come out with a statement that they had nothing to do with it, and it was one of their former members who actually wrote the thing."

Rose bit her lip. She was starting to see. "But the _Prophet_ funded that report…"

"Which puts us in a spot of trouble, yes." Ginny Potter took a sip of coffee, then heaved a sigh as a memo darted into the room. "It's going to be a madhouse here for the next while. Good thing you'll be away from it."

"Away?" Rose stared at her aunt. "What do you mean?"

Ginny Potter batted away the memo, which was poking insistently at her cheek. "Did Cuffe not tell you? We're sending you to Gringotts. The goblins are planning a strike soon, and we need someone covering it."

"Goblins? You're putting me on goblins at a time like this?"

"Well, it's better than Quidditch, isn't it? Coffee?"

Frowning, Rose took the proffered flask but did not pour herself any. "So I'll be reporting on…" she almost choked, "... gold and stuffy old vaults while the _Prophet_ goes down?"

"Oi. Careful what you say." Ginny Potter looked around, though the canteen was now empty. The memo was now fluttering feebly on the counter. In a lower voice, "The _Prophet_ has faced worse crises than this. We're still the number one publication in wizarding Britain, no matter how many people swear by _The Quibbler_." After a pause, "Oh, don't look at me like that, Rosie."

"It feels an awful lot like I'm being got rid of," Rose muttered, putting down the flask.

"It'll be a nice challenge for you. To get out of your comfort zone." Ginny Potter raised her eyebrows. "Look, be grateful you're actually getting a story of your own. Most interns…"

"Serve coffee and scrub floors," sighed Rose. " _I_ know."

"Exactly." Ginny Potter glanced at the twitching memo, then at last seized it up, with another sigh. "An assistant editor's work is never done." Over her shoulder as she passed Rose, "You start tomorrow."

* * *

Two wizards from the Ministry showed up on the doorstep of the Longbottoms' house in Arnos Grove at midday.

Daisy Abbott watched them through the window of her aunt's bedroom, one hand twitching back the curtain, while the other was knotted in the material of her skirt. They were dressed as Muggles, but the out-of-date chinos and plain ancient fedoras were a dead giveaway.

"There's no need to be afraid, Daisy," Neville Longbottom said. He was standing by his wife's bedside. "They're here to help."

Daisy wasn't afraid. She was terrified. The last thing she remembered from the evening before was falling through the darkness back in Knockturn Alley; she had no idea how she had ended up back in her own bed, and her panic as she woke to find herself floating in mid air, according to her aunt and uncle, had further triggered the eruption of her magic.

Of course, she had not told them about her visit to Knockturn Alley. She had kept the palm of her right hand hidden, on which that strange witch had carved on her white flesh a half-moon symbol. Some instinct told her that they should not see it. Her abilities had been dampened by the counter-spell they had cast that morning, but she could still feel the strange power tingling through her. It was a heightened sense of alertness, like what she had felt once when she had drunk an entire pot of coffee for breakfast.

And now she knew that as soon as the doorbell rang, she would have to face those Ministry wizards: steady her trembling hands, slow her hammering heart, and try not to look guilty. All of this was because of her. But Anthea had never said it would be like this - Daisy had never thought -

In short, magic was not quite what she had expected.

The sound of the doorbell echoed through the house. Daisy's nails dug into her palm, and she dropped the curtain. As the last echoes faded away, Neville called, with a hint of impatience to his tone, "Alice! Enid! Will one of you get that?"

Silence, then a scuffle of feet on the landing, and someone thumped reluctantly down the stairs. A moment later, a bright, chirruped greeting, and low male voices in response. Neville Longbottom exchanged a look with his wife, then beckoned to Daisy. "Come on. We'd better go down and say hello."

The Ministry officials looked to be around the same age as her uncle, and Daisy found herself a little relieved by the dispassion in their faces as they surveyed her downstairs in the hallway. "My name is Elmer Short," said the older wizard as he shook her uncle's hand. He spoke in a broad Yorkshire accent. "And this is my colleague Glenn Kendrick. We're from the Improper Use of Magic Office. We were notified of an unauthorised use of underage magic from an unregistered minor."

"Thank you for coming," Neville said hastily. "This is my niece, Daisy Abbott. She - "

"Is there somewhere," Short interrupted, exchanging a glance with his colleague, "we can speak to your niece in private?"

Daisy's momentary relief dissipated. She would be alone with them, no one around to help her. She could sense the wizards' prickling gazes on her now, and could barely meet their eye. _They know._

"Y-yes, of course," Neville said rapidly, and then, resuming his schoolmaster manner, "You can use the sitting room. In the meantime, we'll - " he glanced at Alice, who was hovering at the bottom of the stairs, curiosity written all over her face, " - we'll make tea."

At any other time, Daisy would have laughed at the expression on her cousin's face as it dawned on her that _she_ was the one who would have to make the tea. But right now, her palms were sweating as she pressed them into her skirt, her heart thumping so quickly that she could feel the pulse in the arteries on her neck. The Ministry officials, divested of their coats and hats, followed her into the wide sitting room.

Ordinarily a place of comfort, with its bright carpet and plush couches, it now felt unfamiliar to Daisy, and she halted uncertainly by the coffee table.

"Take a seat," the younger wizard, Kendrick, said, and with a flick of his wand rearranged the furniture so that one armchair faced two across the coffee table. Then he made a contortion of his face which was evidently meant to be a reassuring smile, and so Daisy, taking a deep breath, obeyed.

A silence, in which there was no sound but the ticking of the hallway clock, and then Short began, "Can you walk us through what happened this morning?"

Daisy breathed in deeply through her nose, and then nodded. She began by relating how she had woken up to find herself levitating above her bed, then went on to describe the effects on other objects in the house: the piano playing by itself, the furniture in her room taking on a life of its own… As she spoke, her heart pounded so loud in her ears that she could barely hear herself, and the two wizards frequently exchanged glances, often nodding to one another as though they were communicating by telepathy.

"Legilimency," she said aloud, correcting herself, and the Ministry officials turned back to stare at her.

"What was that?"

"Sorry, nothing." She felt herself blush, looking down. If they had not thought there was something off about her before, they definitely did now. After a moment, the wizard named Kendrick said musingly,

"You seem to have a reasonable knowledge of the wizarding world, despite having lived as a Squib before."

"Well, yes," Daisy said, a little surprised. She swallowed, then, wringing her hands in her lap, added, "My cousins go to Hogwarts. Alice and Enid. Sometimes I help them with their homework over the holidays."

"Help them?" Kendrick repeated, with another glance at his colleague. "But you attend a Muggle school yourself?"

"Yes," she said slowly, "but some of the knowledge translates."

There was a long silence, then the older wizard cleared his throat. "And - ahem - your parents were both magical?"

"Cyril and Adela Abbott, yes," Daisy said, and then felt a wrench within her. What would they think of her now, lying through her teeth? Lying to Ministry officials, no less?

Though, of course, she reminded herself, she had not lied yet; merely withheld the fact that she had had help from a questionable witch named Anthea who resided in Knockturn Alley. Yesterday she had been a Squib, today she had magic. That much was true.

"This isn't the first such case we had," Short remarked later, in the kitchen. They had been served tea by a glowering Alice, and were now sitting around the table: herself, the two Ministry officials, and Neville. "What is unusual, of course, is her age. It is rare for magical abilities to be suppressed so late into adolescence."

"I was a bit of a late-bloomer myself," Neville admitted eagerly, then, shrugging his shoulders. "Of course, not as late as that, and I'm not a blood relation of Daisy, but…"

"It's not unheard of," Kendrick supplied. "But then, Squibs themselves are even rarer, particularly a Squib born of two magical parents." With a glance at Short, "And recently, we've seen a spike in - er - late-bloomers, as you call it - "

"As we said, it's not unheard of," the older wizard interrupted, with something like an admonishing glance at his colleague. Daisy looked down at her right hand under the table, turned it over to see again the half-moon: the symbol she had been at pains at hide during her interrogation by the two men. She wondered how many other people like her Anthea had 'helped': how many other similar cases there had been, and why Short was hesitant to have them spoken of…

Shaking herself, she tuned back into the conversation. "We'll need to consult with our superiors," Kendrick was saying. "And the Minister will have to be notified, too, before a decision is reached."

"Yes, she will know what to do," Neville said. His eyes found Daisy, and they were anxious. "I'll bring Daisy to the Ministry myself. I'm sure Hermione can make time to meet us."

"You yourself being a professor at the school," Short said, gesturing, "I would suggest that you contact the Headmaster and the Board for their advice, too."

Daisy felt as though the room was spinning away from them. School? Hogwarts? There was some question of her going? Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Alice, who had lingered in the doorway to listen, had gone pale.

Neville Longbottom was nodding. "Yes, yes, of course."

The Ministry officials rose to their feet, getting ready to leave, but Daisy was still rooted to her seat, her eyes wide as visions of the castle flew through her head.

"We will put together a report for the Minister's consideration," Elmer Short said, with a note of finality to his voice as Neville followed them through to the hall. "In the meantime, if any other strange abilities manifest themselves, do not hesitate to contact us."

"We'll be in touch," supplied Kendrick, with a nod, and then the two wizards had swept out of the door back into Arnos Grove, with their coats and fedoras.

Through the latticed window at the top of the front door, bright sunlight filtered and framed the long hallway. Neville looked back. The criss-cross pattern of the window was shadowed above the door to the kitchen, which stood open. He could see Daisy inside, automatically gathering up the cups and saucers at the table. In this light, she looked strikingly like Hannah: her long blonde hair loose around her shoulders. But her features spoke of someone else: her pallor, her aquiline nose, and her great, gloomy eyes. Perhaps of her mother, Adela, whom he had never met.

Was Hogwarts a possibility for her?

Neville had always tried his best to get Enid and Alice to include their cousin in their games, though from the beginning she had been the clear odd one out. After all, he knew how it felt to be a lonely child. To make Daisy feel like an outsider among his family was the last thing he had ever wanted.

And yet, sometimes he wondered if it had happened anyway.

* * *

Hugo Weasley winced at the potent ray of sunlight that darted from above, bounced from a shop window and right into his eyes. It was too cruel - too cruel to his poor head, which was still throbbing from the night before. How many glasses of champagne had he drunk? How many Firewhiskeys had that serving wizard given him before he had told him it was time to stop? He didn't want to think about it.

Passing into merciful shade, Hugo reached the door of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and, after a moment's hesitation, pressed it open. The place was quiet - almost deserted, which was not surprising as it was approaching lunch hour. Hugo saw his cousin Albus stretched on his tiptoes to place a large box of Decoy Detonators on one of the shelves.

"The place is looking good as new," he said, and Albus straightened.

"Yeah," he said, pushing his glasses up on his nose as he looked around. "A few scorch-marks here and there, but otherwise fine."

"Squibs, am I right?" Hugo joked, and then, at his cousin's uncertain laugh, held out the magenta robe slung over his arm. "I - er - came to leave this back."

"Thanks." Stepping forward, Albus took it. He stood a few inches shorter than Hugo, who had shot up in height over the past year. A smile crossed his features as he met his cousin's eye. "Recovered from last night?"

Hugo closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Not half. I don't remember everything, but I…" he paused, running a hand over his short hair, "... I think I owe Scorpius Malfoy an apology."

"Really?" Albus gave a short laugh as he lifted the partition between the shop and the till, moving around. "How's that?"

"I have a vague memory of accusing him of ruining my sister's life… or something like that." Hugo rubbed his forehead, sighing.

"That _does_ warrant an apology." Albus indicated the robe. "I'm just going to leave this in back. Do you mind watching the till for a second?"

"Er… sure." Hugo moved to take his cousin's place as he heard the creak of the shop's back door. He scanned the shop floor, then began to tap out a rhythm on the counter. He noticed there was the faintest burn mark in the wood. Had it been there before the incident with the fireworks yesterday? After all, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was the kind of shop where accidents frequently occurred. He had been sacked not for what had happened, but for the way he had handled it.

For the way he had singled Daisy Abbott out.

At the sound of the shop bell, Hugo started, and saw a middle-aged witch enter. She looked to be in a hurry, and was laden down with shopping bags. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know you're closing up for lunch soon, but I hoped you could help me with something?"

Hugo cast an uncertain glance at the back room. "Er - I'm not actually - er - sure."

From one of her many bags, the witch drew out a small, old-fashioned clock, like the one that stood on the mantelpiece back in Grimmauld Place. "I bought this from your Muggle Magic line the other day, but it isn't working."

Hugo took the mantel clock from her, turned it over and examined it. "I was assured it was a real clock, not a trick product," the lady continued.

"Yes, it is." Albus Potter had emerged from the back room, and held out his hands for the clock, which Hugo gave to him. "It runs entirely on clockwork, like a Muggle object." Examining it more closely, "There must be something stuck in the gears. We'll take it in for repairs and contact you in a few days."

Once he had taken the witch's details, she gathered up her bags once more and beamed at them both. "Thank you so much," she said warmly, chiefly addressing Albus. "You and your brother have been such a help."

"You're very welcome," Albus called as she walked away. "See you soon."

After she had left, Hugo turned to Albus, who was still examining the clock. "Brother?" he repeated, his brow creased.

"Hmm?"

"Why didn't you correct her?"

Albus looked up, the expression on his face distracted. "Oh, I - er - I didn't notice."

"We look nothing alike." Hugo manoeuvred his way around the counter, then, frowning, put a hand to his head. "Maybe it's the hair."

"Hang on." Albus's voice stopped him as he moved away from the counter. "You said you needed to apologise to Malfoy?"

"Y-yeah." Hugo reluctantly dragged out the word, turning back. "At some point."

"You could do it now. He works in Wright's Antiques, down the street. They might be able to figure out what's wrong with this." Albus Potter held up the clock, looking at his cousin hopefully. "How about killing two birds with one stone?"

* * *

Daisy Abbott and Neville Longbottom had been waiting over an hour outside the door that bore the golden plaque _Advisor to the Minister_ , and it showed no more signs of opening now than it had when they had first arrived.

The plush purple carpets muffled the footsteps of other witches and wizards as they went about their business, and the gleaming doors opened and closed soundlessly. It was nothing like the Atrium, which they had passed through on their way here. The grandeur, the colours, the raised voices, the sky-blue ceiling, the towering twin statues there: all had combined to overwhelm Daisy. She had wanted to see more, to see it all, but her uncle had swept them through to the elevator. She supposed he, being used to the Ministry, had forgotten that she was not.

Recognising Daisy's uncle right away, the witch at the inquiry desk on Level One had informed them that Hermione Weasley was out for the day at a conference, but that her Advisor Corley could attend them if she wished. Neville quietly cursed when he heard the name, but agreed all the same.

Now, Neville shifted in his seat, straightened his robes and glanced over at Daisy. "Come on, let's go."

She frowned. "But - "

"Whatever game Corley is at, I don't feel like playing," her uncle said, and rose to his feet.

"Not leaving already, Longbottom?"

Advancing towards them up the corridor was one of the ugliest men Daisy had ever seen. Puffed up and short-legged, he had a nose ravaged by broken blood vessels, small, darting eyes, a ridged forehead, and a shock of blond hair which she suspected to be a hairpiece, as it showed not a trace of grey. He was clad in scarlet robes, that further showed up the redness of his features.

"My granddaughter has you in Herbology, I think," the wizard said to Neville as he reached them. His voice reminded Daisy of someone. "An honour!" Glancing at the door that bore the plaque, he chuckled. "You thought I was behind there all this time, I expect."

"Not an unreasonable assumption, Advisor," Neville Longbottom said stiffly.

William Corley gave a guffaw. "Well, you won't hold it against me, will you, Longbottom? You know I'm a busy man. I'm sure you've been watching the news!"

Neville gave a tight smile as he allowed Corley to clasp his hand. As he released it, the Advisor beckoned with one hand to the door, without so much as looking at Daisy.

"What balderdash!" he laughed as the door closed behind them. The office within was large, and smelled of bourbon and cigar smoke. Corley crossed to the table that bore a decanter, gesturing to the chairs placed opposite his desk. "Imagine me having ties to MACUSA! With their No-Majs and moralising… can't stand the lot. I'd probably throw myself out of that window if I was their spy. Drink?" Ignoring Neville's shake of the head, he poured him a Firewhiskey, passing the glass into his hand and taking a seat behind his desk.

Daisy Abbott gazed at the window through which Corley had proposed pitching himself, to the left of the desk. It showed a bright, sunlit courtyard, even though they were underground; how could that be? Her uncle, following her gaze, murmured, "They're enchanted to show whatever the occupant of the office likes to see."

"Mm-yes," Corley said, summoning his own glass of Firewhiskey and glancing at the window. "One of my favourite views from Hogwarts: the North Tower courtyard. When I was Head Boy, we used to have our meetings there in good weather." It struck Daisy for the first time of whom he reminded her. Last year, an alumnus of Eton had come to address the fourth form girls at her school about the values of good education. He had spoken just like Corley: in a voice of polished mahogany, whose syllables occasionally rang with a pleasant jingle, like that of Sickle coins.

"I'm here because my niece…" Neville began, with another glance at Daisy.

"Yes, yes, I'm up to date," Corley interrupted, putting his glass down. "Couple of lads in the Improper Magic Office brought me a report." Out of nowhere, he produced a pair of spectacles that slid onto his red nose, and held up a length of parchment. "Seems to me this country's going mad. More and more of them every day." At Neville's uncomprehending silence, his eyes flicked upward to regard him over the frame of his glasses. "You know, these "late-bloomers", as they call them. Glorified Squibs, really. I think it's all nonsense. I've had magic since I was just out of the womb - as my poor mother will attest to." With a chuckle, "I was forever Apparating away from her, the first few days. I believe her nerves never recovered."

"Daisy's powers are considerable," Neville broke in, his tone icy. "Normally, I would propose educating her at home, but after witnessing a demonstration of her abilities this morning, I think the Hogwarts environment would be best suited to develop them."

Daisy stared at her uncle, hardly able to believe her ears. Corley frowned over the letter he was reading, and murmured something to himself. "Mm-yes, quite. Well, it seems to be the safest place for them."

Neville Longbottom seemed momentarily stumped by the Advisor's acquiescence. Clearing his throat, "We have a mentoring programme in place that would help Daisy and those like her to catch up on their studies." He looked at Daisy again, and the first hint of a smile played about his features at the expression of rapture on her face. "It's not ideal, but I think my niece is bright enough to manage it."

"I'd work hard," Daisy said quickly. "And I've been helping Alice and Enid with their homework for years - I know all about Charms and Transfiguration and - "

"If it were up to me, of course," William Corley cut across her, without looking up from his letter, "I'd leave them to muddle through with the Mugs. That's their world, and this is ours. But national security…" With a glance to Neville that invited him to sympathise with his predicament, "You know. With more and more of these cases appearing every day, it's safer to have them where you can keep an eye." For the first time, he looked at Daisy, whose eyes were round as saucers now, and shook his finger at her. "You're a lucky girl, you know!"

The last was clearly a dismissal, or at least, her uncle took it as such. Blindly, Daisy followed Neville out of the office, and turned to stare at him as soon as they were in the corridor. "Does this mean - "

"Don't get your hopes up," her uncle said, looking down at her. There was a kind understanding in his eyes that was almost unbearable. "We still have to hear from the Headmaster, and the Board." As they began to walk, he added, more lightly, "But if I understood Corley correctly, the Ministry will put up no opposition to your going to school. It's in their interests."

In dazed bliss, Daisy Abbott barely registered the journey in the elevator, the memos that floated around their heads like bright-feathered birds or the stream of witches and wizards rushing through the golden grilles. The only thing that stood out to her memory was seeing the two statues again as they passed through the Atrium. Carved in gleaming white stone, on the right stood a cloaked figure holding a wand: clearly a wizard. On his left stood a recognisably human shape, whose appearance kept changing. In the time that it took Daisy and Neville to reach the visitor's exit, it changed from a knight brandishing a sword to a gentleman in a wig holding a book, and then again to a soldier in combats, cocking a gun over his shoulder.

On the Underground home, Neville set about writing another letter, and in her uncle's silence, Daisy Abbott found herself recalling the way Corley had spoken about Squibs and Muggles. She gazed out at her own face, floating in that reflected world that stood between the warm, bright train and the dark tunnel outside. She thought she understood the sculpture in the Atrium now.

Wizards and witches had magic. Their wands would always be their weapons. But Muggles… _their_ greatest weapon was that they were always evolving; their tools were always shifting to better equip them for the age in which they lived.

And what if there were others like her, as she had thought? Others whom Anthea had helped? What happened when the one weapon of witches and wizards was taken away from them, too?

It was no wonder that people like Corley were frightened at the prospect.

* * *

"I'll need to take it in for a day or so," Scorpius Malfoy said when Hugo showed him the mantel clock.

It was quiet in the Metal-Charmer's shop; indeed, quietness seemed to be the natural state of Wright and Son. Located where it was at the edge of Diagon Alley, just near enough the Knockturn Alley businesses to give it that scent of ill repute, Hugo supposed it wasn't surprising. The shop was small and smelled of old wood. To the left and right were cabinets which displayed an assortment of Muggle and wizarding antiques: items ranging from parchment weights and gramophones to old Sneakoscopes and broomsticks that had not seen the light of day for many years. Slim, elegant oil lamps were placed on top of the cabinets, and an old stick telephone occupied its own place on a display table.

Malfoy was currently leaned on the counter in his shirtsleeves, his wand held at the ready as he bent over the clock. He did not look at Hugo as he spoke. "I'll get Mr. Wright to have a look, too, too. There might be some kind of charm on it."

"Thank you. That is - er - Al will be grateful." Hugo cleared his throat, then shuffled his feet on the floor, turning his head to look at the old Nimbus 1000 encased behind the counter. Slowly, Scorpius Malfoy looked up.

"Was there something else?"

Hugo forced himself to meet Malfoy's cold, grey-eyed gaze. "Yes." He coughed again. "Er… I said some things to you, at the party last night."

The smallest smirk curved Scorpius Malfoy's mouth, but he said nothing.

"Some things I didn't mean," Hugo went on, leaning a hand on the counter and looking around the shop a little desperately.

"Oh, I think you meant every word."

A flare of anger rose up in Hugo, and he quenched it with an effort, swallowing. But that smirking face of Malfoy's was so bloody irritating… how could Rose stand to look at it every day? "I wanted to apologise," he said at last. "I'd had a bit to drink, and I wasn't thinking straight."

There was a pause, during which Scorpius Malfoy resumed his examination of the clock. "It's your sister you should be apologising to, not me," he said at last, quietly. "I'm aware of what you and your parents think of me. So the things you said… came as no great surprise." He met Hugo's eye again. "But you didn't exactly pull your punches with Rose, either."

"Rub it in, Malfoy, why don't you?"

"You know I'm right. She took good care of you last night. The least you can do is tell her you're sorry."

Hugo clamped his lips together at the patronising note in Malfoy's tone, but said nothing. Instead, he thought, turned the words over in his mind for a moment.

"She's been trying her best," Scorpius Malfoy went on, bending down and rummaging in one of the drawers behind the counter, "not to burn bridges. The reunion was important to her."

"Really?" Hugo's brow furrowed.

Straightening, Scorpius threw an apron over his arm and made for the back room. "Why else do you think I went? Tell Albus to drop in to the shop tomorrow to pick this up." Over his shoulder, "No charge."

"Thank you," Hugo Weasley said, but his voice was lost as the door shut behind Malfoy. Hands in his pockets, he turned and ambled out of the shop.

* * *

Rose Weasley had not gotten much work done that day. Not that anyone would have noticed, for even on quiet days, the staff in _The Prophet_ were barely aware of her existence. She had not seen her aunt since midday, and assumed she was shut up in her office. As evening drew in, rather than filtering out like normal, the editors and reporters stayed at their desks, occasionally murmuring to one another or leaning over each another's shoulders as they worked.

The wall on one side of the office was translucent, and flickered with the images that periodically changed according to the headlines. Right now, it showed William Corley's scowling face, with the letters beneath reading: _Corley cries bogus news._

"I reckon you can go now, Weasley," said one of the researchers as she was passing Rose's cubicle. A hatchet-faced witch, she had evidently just returned from her break, as the scent of smoke drifted with her. "Unless you want to be here all night." Jerking her head back towards the door through which she had emerged, "There's someone downstairs waiting for you."

A smile crossed Rose's face, and thanking the witch, she hastily began to gather up her things. It must be Scorpius, she thought as she hurried towards the exit, shrugging on her jacket. With a guilty glance back at the silent, industrious office, she closed the door and tripped down the narrow stairs. So he had decided to surprise her after work. She sped up, her heels clacking on the last steps, emerged out on the street and stopped.

"Oh. It's you."

The sun was setting over Diagon Alley. There was a faint rainfall, which made a soft, tinkling sound everywhere.

Hugo Weasley turned to face her fully, where he stood on the street. He wore a dark blazer over his navy T-shirt, and had his hands in the pockets of his jeans. His brown eyes were solemn as they met hers. She started walking. "Rosie…"

"Stop following me," she said over her shoulder. "I don't want to see you right now."

"I know," Hugo said as he caught up with her. "I know you don't. But last night, at the party…"

"Don't say you didn't mean what you said," Rose bit out, "just because you were drunk. Because I know you did."

"I did," Hugo said quietly, and for a moment there was no sound but for the click of Rose's heels on the cobbles, until she stopped in her tracks, twisting around to regard him.

"What?"

"I didn't mean to pick on Malfoy like that." Her brother lowered his eyes to the ground. "But I do wish you'd been around more, this past year." His words hung on the air for a moment, and Rose was silent. He swallowed, then, "Everything's been so… messed-up."

"How could I stay?" Rose demanded. "When Mum and Dad can't stand the sight of him?"

"You haven't given them a chance," Hugo said rapidly, looking up at her again. "They want to do better. I know they do."

"Hugo, they're never going to be OK with it." Rose met her brother's eye squarely. "With me and Scorpius."

"But they don't have to be." As his sister stared at him, Hugo heaved a breath. "What I mean is... you're more important. What you want, who you're with, it doesn't matter so much, as long as you're just - around. With us."

"But I can't - "

"We miss you," Hugo broke in, with a note of finality to his voice. "Dad acts like he's mad at you for not going for Healing, but I know he's just worried. And Mum… with her new job, she barely has time to see anyone, but when she's at home, all she talks about is you."

"Hugo - "

" _I_ miss you," Hugo said fiercely, and, as Rose blinked at him, shrugged his shoulders. "You were always so much better at this stuff than me. Handling people, and telling them everything's going to be OK, and… when Mum and Dad get to talking about you, I don't know what to say. I'm useless at it." With something like a laugh, he looked around, at the passerby on the street. The light of day was dimming around them. "It feels like, last year, we didn't just lose James. It feels like we lost you, too."

A pause. The tinkle of the rain, footsteps on the cobbles, the slam of a shop door, and Rose drew a shuddering breath. Hugo looked back at her, and saw that her eyes were full of tears. "Oh, no, Rosie, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry - "

"You haven't _lost_ me," she squeaked. She raised a hand to wipe her eye, then dropped it again, shaking her head as her lip trembled. "How - how could you say that? I…"

"Hey. _Hey_. Come here." Hugo stepped forward and drew her in for a hug.

"How could you say - "

"Because I'm an idiot, that's why," Hugo said, his voice muffled in her shoulder. "An idiot. But you knew that already, didn't you?"

Rose made a sound like a laugh, and he felt her shake her head.

"I told you, I'm useless at this stuff." Hugo tightened his arms around his sister.

"I'm the idiot here," Rose said after a moment, when her voice was a little steadier.

"Yes, well, we knew that, too." Smiling, Hugo drew back, and flicked Rose on the forehead. "The idiot who we all miss."

They started walking, slowly. The stalls were closing up for the day, chairs piled onto tables in the cafés and curtains drawn across the window displays of the bookshops. Through a great bank of cloud, the fading golden sunlight poured, as though someone had opened a window in the western sky.

"I didn't realise things were so bad," Rose said as they were passing Flourish and Blotts. "With Mum and Dad."

"Well, her new job doesn't help matters." Hugo sighed. "And Dad has transferred his Healer ambitions to me."

"No," Rose said, grinning incredulously as she looked at him. "He hasn't."

"Oh, he has." Hugo shuddered. "It's been hell."

"Well, I'll try to help out more." A silence, then, "You know I can't come back with you, right?"

Hugo glanced across at Rose, then shook his head. "I know."

"If I'm choosing, then it's still going to be Scorpius."

They were approaching the courtyard of the Leaky Cauldron now. "I know," Hugo said again, quietly. "But you don't have to choose. That's what I've been telling you."

A beam of sunlight played across his sister's face, and her eyes were still glittering with unshed tears as they met his. "We always have to choose, Hugo." As she opened the door, "You mightn't believe me now. But when you meet someone, you'll understand."

"I guess I'll just have to take your word for it," Hugo Weasley said, and with a last glance around Diagon Alley, followed his sister inside.

* * *

There was a letter waiting on Daisy Abbott's bed when she got home from the Ministry.

She moved to pick it up, and heard a footstep behind her. Looking around, she saw Alice Longbottom standing in the threshold of the attic room. "That arrived for you when you were gone," her cousin said, nodding to the envelope in Daisy's hand.

"Thank you," Daisy said uncertainly. She turned her back to Alice as she opened it, drawing out the single piece of parchment on which was written…

"Who's it from?" Her cousin had pressed forward and now stood behind her. Alarmed, Daisy turned rapidly, and a hairbrush flew off her dresser, landing on the floor between them.

Alice Longbottom tutted, folding her arms over her middle. "You're never going to get along in Hogwarts if you don't learn to control _that_."

Daisy took a step backwards, tucking the envelope behind her back and staring at her cousin.

"So?" Alice pressed. "Who was it from?"

"A friend from school," Daisy murmured.

"You're lying," her cousin said, and Daisy's eyes flew up to her. "Why are you lying, Daisy? It arrived by owl. How would your Muggle friends know how to send letters by owl?"

Daisy's tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. In vain she tried to speak, her eyes wide as she stared at her cousin. Alice Longbottom tilted her head. "Something's not right here. Mummy and Daddy were so sure your magic was just suppressed all these years, but _I_ think there's something else going on here. Something fishy."

"I - " Daisy managed to get out. The words were there, but she could not make a sound. Frustrated, she threw up her hands, and the letter fluttered out of her pocket. Smiling widely now, Alice plucked it out of the air and read the piece of parchment.

"Moribund. Who's _Moribund_ , Daisy?" She was still smiling.

"I - I don't - "

" _I know what you did_ ," Alice Longbottom hissed, and morphed into William Corley. "Mm-yes, child, I know what you did. The whole Ministry knows."

The room darkened around them, and Daisy Abbott shook her head, panicked. "No, it's not possible, I didn't do anything wrong…"

"Daisy. _Daisy_!"

The attic room and William Corley's face dissolved away, and Daisy Abbott lifted her head from the kitchen table. Her blonde hair was stuck to her cheek. A Hinkypunks number was playing distantly on the wireless, and her uncle stood at the window, unfastening an envelope from the claws of the house owl. It was dark outside, and the kettle was whistling.

"Daisy, there's been a letter." Her cousin Enid sat across the table from her.

Daisy blinked, bleary-eyed, as her head began to clear. She remembered arriving home with Neville; he had retreated to his office to send some owls, they had had dinner, and then… "I must have fallen asleep." Her eyes alighted on the bowls, stacked at the corner of the sink.

"You don't say," Alice said, rising from the table as the kettle clicked off. "We've been waiting here the past hour. You kept saying some weird name in your sleep…"

"Moribund," Enid pronounced, and then Neville stepped to the table, the envelope in his hand.

"This is Professor Broadmoor's response," he told Daisy, who stared up at him. "He's consulted with the Board, and I think they've reached a decision. Will I read it now?"

Sick with anticipation, Daisy nodded her head, and her uncle, who looked just as pale and worried as she felt, opened the letter. His eyes scanned the print, and Daisy's hand clenched into a fist beneath the table. Then, Neville Longbottom's expression cleared.

"He says it's unprecedented, but they'll allow you to attend this year, on condition that you pass your Christmas exams."

The kitchen dissolved around Daisy once more, until the only solid thing that remained was her uncle, who kept reading, words drifting in and out of Daisy's consciousness. "... you'll have to attend at O.W.L level… be Sorted with the first-year students when you arrive… they'll assign you a mentor…"

A hand on her arm, and Daisy snapped back to reality. Alice stood beside her, her dark eyes looking into her cousin's as though she, indeed, knew everything. But then she smiled. "Congratulations, Daisy."

Enid was squealing and clapping her hands, and her uncle folded up the letter once more, beaming from ear to ear. "It'll be a lot of hard work, of course, Daisy, but I'm sure you can manage it."

"Am I… dreaming?" Daisy Abbott said in a low voice, and the others laughed.

"You're awake," Neville Longbottom said, putting an arm around his niece's shoulders. The kitchen formed once more around them, at another blink of Daisy's eye. "And you're going to Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts," Daisy Abbott repeated dumbly. Her eyes gazed past her cousins, past the window of the kitchen, to the dark outside that enveloped the house of Arnos Grove; she imagined the city, bustling around them, and hundreds of miles north, a castle whose lights glittered in water, waiting for her.

 _Hogwarts_.

* * *

"Good work today," said George Weasley to his nephew, through a mouthful of nails. He stood on top of a ladder, his magenta robes hiked up above his ankles to reveal his black trousers, tilting dangerously towards the glass frame which he was hammering into the wall.

"You're sure you don't want me to stay and spot you?" Albus said doubtfully, looking up and adjusting his glasses. He was dressed in his ordinary clothes, his leather satchel slung over one shoulder.

"No, thanks," said Uncle George, and brought his hammer down with a crash. After a moment, he looked down at his nephew and smiled, a little sheepishly. "I prefer to do this kind of thing by hand. More precision, you know."

Albus didn't know, but he nodded anyway. "Right. Well, good evening."

"Give your mum and dad my best," his uncle called as he left the shop.

"My uncle is cracked," Albus muttered as he stepped outside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He looked up at the model wizard tipping his top hat, and shook his head. "My entire family is cracked."

"Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, you know."

Albus turned and saw Scorpius Malfoy approaching, his cloak swirling around him. "Malfoy."

"Potter," Scorpius replied in the same tone as he reached him. "Care to join me for a drink?"

Albus's brow creased, and he checked his watch to hide his confusion. "Er, I should be getting home…"

"It's not for the pleasure of your company, Potter," Scorpius said impatiently. "I've got something to show you. Come on."

They procured a table in the quietest corner of the Leaky Cauldron, and once their drinks had been served, Scorpius Malfoy cast a surreptitious glance around, reached into his pocket and drew out a length of parchment. It looked old and creased, and he flattened with his hand as he placed it carefully on the table.

"What's that?" Albus said curiously, tilting his head. "Looks like a map."

"It is." Scorpius's grey eyes darted up to his. "Can you tell what it's of?"

"Hmm." Shifting his chair so that he could get a better look, Albus peered down at the map. After a moment, "Looks like… the Forbidden Forest."

"My thoughts exactly, Potter." Scorpius pointed towards the centre of the map. "See there?"

But Albus looked up at Scorpius instead. "Do you mind me asking, Malfoy, where you got this?"

"It was inside the clock Weasley left in to my shop."

"The clock?" Albus stared at the other wizard, bewildered.

"I opened it up," Scorpius said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It was hollow inside. No gears. Only this piece of parchment, folded up."

"What," Albus Potter murmured.

"We can speculate about who put it there later. But right now, this is important. _Look_." Scorpius pointed again, and Albus followed the direction to see what had been drawn in the centre of the forest.

"It's just a circle, Malfoy. I don't see what's so important about that."

Scorpius flattened the errant corner of the map, and Albus noticed for the first time the familiar symbol, the one his father had shown him before: a triangle, and contained within it a vertical line and a circle, drawn to the same scale as the one in the centre of the forest.

Suddenly, the noises of the tavern around them seemed to float away. "The Deathly Hallows," Albus breathed, and looking across, he saw that the excitement in Scorpius Malfoy's eyes matched his own. Holding out his hand, he counted off his fingers, keeping his voice low. "My father has the Cloak, he restored the Elder Wand to Albus Dumbledore's tomb, but the Stone…" His voice broke on the last word, and he looked down at the map.

"Lost in the Forbidden Forest," he heard Scorpius Malfoy say. "Until now. Because evidently, someone knows where to find it."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hope you guys liked it! Back to Hogwarts in the next chapter, woooo.

 **Songs** : "Strange Magic" - Electric Light Orchestra

"Where Does That Leave Me?" - Rupert Gregson-Williams, The Crown soundtrack

"Cave of Mind" - Joe Hisaishi, Howl's Moving Castle soundtrack

Clair de Lune, L.32 - Claude Debussy


	5. Invisible Girl

**Disclaimer:** Copyright JK Rowling

 **A/N:** Hey there! Sorry, I know it's been nearly two months since I last updated. It's been a busy time - exams, and family weddings, among other things - but I've been tipping away at this chapter through it all. I want to thank you guys for the reviews you've given so far, and for those of you who've favorited or followed too. It's really encouraging, particularly since this story is still finding its feet.

* * *

Here's a brief recap of what's happened so far:

Theodore Nott is hiding out abroad with his lover Daphne Greengrass.

Squib Daisy Abbott obtained a potion from a witch named Moribund which enables her to perform magic; she is now fit to attend Hogwarts.

Hugo Weasley lost his summer job in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes after handling Daisy's Squib situation poorly.

Neville's eldest daughter Alice Longbottom has the hots for Hugo, a fact of which he is uncomfortably aware.

Rose Weasley is in the middle of an internship at the _Daily Prophet_ offices, and is a bit miffed when they send her away to cover the strike in Gringotts.

Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy have found a map which might just lead to the whereabouts of the Resurrection Stone.

* * *

Chapter 3: Invisible Girl

Lysander Scamander knocked for a second time, and looked again at the plaque on the door, which read _George Ripley_. No, it must be the right place; that was the name he had been told.

But as he stood there, in the lamplit tunnel that ran beneath the Alchemical Centre in Alexandria, he couldn't help but feel that he had made a blunder somewhere. No sound came from within the office, and it was silent without, but for a phantom gust of air that blew on the back of Lysander's neck like a cool breath.

When the door to the office opened at last, it actually took Lysander a moment to register what had happened. His brain, stupid and slow, struggled to catch up, but gradually, the image of George Ripley formed itself before him: a tall, rake-thin wizard with pockmarked skin and colourless eyes. He was wearing old-fashioned robes whose material looked so thick, Lysander thought the poor man must be sweltering.

"I'm sorry to disturb." He spoke first, his voice cracking a little from lack of use. "You are Mr Ripley, yes? I'm a Curse-Breaker. My friend Samir - he's a researcher upstairs in the Centre. He said that you might be able to help me."

The man's face did not change, but he stepped aside, the folds of his robes swaying in the movement.

Lysander Scamander was no stranger to eccentrics. His father had devoted his life to hunting creatures of which most of the wizarding world had never heard, after all, and his mother… well, she wasn't joining any _Witch Weekly_ book clubs any time soon. However, as he entered George Ripley's office, he thought he had never seen such a peculiar assortment of objects.

Around him, covering every inch of wall and floor space, was a tangled web of animal skins, dyes and potions in earthen jars, rolls of vellum bound up with dragonhide, tusks, torcs and deadly-looking teeth, stone bowls and ewers with indecipherable runes etched onto their surfaces, silver cauldrons carved with ancient, leering faces… But what struck Lysander the most about the place was that the air did not smell old, as he had been expecting. It smelled of spice, and burning, and something else - something sickly sweet, like rust.

What was more, he could not see so much as a speck of dust on any of the items crowding the room. It was all so clean that Lysander felt painfully aware of the sand he was tracking in with his boots, of the dust and old mud clinging to his khaki trousers. So he did not take the seat indicated by Ripley, but remained standing, opposite the small desk.

"You were on a dig today, I take it?" The man's voice was not what Lysander had expected, either; he spoke in a crisp London accent, as precise as that of a schoolmaster.

"Yes, I just returned from an expedition to Kom El Shoqafa an hour ago." Lysander shifted slightly on his feet. "We were looking for phoenix flint."

"I hope you were successful?"

"Not as we had hoped."

"Then something went wrong?"

Black spots blotted out Lysander's vision, and for a moment, he was out under the blazing sun once more, staring at the ruins before him and hearing that strange singing in his ears…

"It could have been much worse," he managed to say, as soon as his sight had returned. "I was lucky there was a team waiting outside the catacombs - but I was struck by something in one of the halls before they could extract me."

"A Curse." The man was rifling through the papers on his desk now. Lysander saw his hand shaking, and wondered if he had a tremor.

"Yes, well, it goes with the territory." Lysander gave a nervous laugh, but Ripley did not join in. "Anyway, I've been feeling the effects since: like a bad case of sunstroke. Dizziness, dehydration, nausea... We haven't been able to find a counter-curse. And they tell me you've studied every antidote under the sun."

"I wouldn't say that." George Ripley moved from his desk to one of the shelves, seizing up a shallow bowl and pestle. "I see myself as a student still. There are some things I will never know." Conjuring what looked like a dark root and grinding it into the bowl, "However, previous visitors to that tomb have experienced something similar to what you are describing. It is known as the Curse of Caracalla, put in place to ward off intruders. A mild dose of Bloodroot should alleviate the dizziness for now. In the meantime, I will work on finding a counter-spell."

"Thank you." Lysander watched as the man moved to his desk again, produced a blue flame at the end of his wand and held it under the bowl until the powder liquefied.

"One sip should be enough." Their hands met briefly as he passed him the full vial. "Any more and you might find yourself paying frequent visits to the water-closet." A low laugh, that sounded alien to Lysander's ears. He joined in nonetheless, as he raised the potion to his lips, then winced at its bitterness. Ripley leaned over his desk, and his hand brushed the glossy cover of a magazine, that Lysander had not noticed before: its bright, glaring headlines looked incongruous among the yellowed parchment.

"You read _The Quibbler_?" he said after he had swallowed. "My mother's the editor, you know."

"Is that so?" Ripley said, in neutral tones, though his hand was still shaking as he picked up the magazine. Tilting his head, Lysander read the headline, and laughed again.

"So Theodore Nott's raising an army of mummies, here in Alexandria? It's a wonder none of us have seen him around."

George Ripley looked up from his desk, his colourless gaze blinding.

Something was tearing up Lysander Scamander's insides. A path of fire, rising up to his throat and burning his lips, his tongue… looking down, he saw dark blood dripping from his chin onto the front of his brown shirt. He tried to speak. "What have you given me - what was in that…"

"You might say it's a coincidence." The man's words sounded distant now, dropping like stones into the raging lake that was Lysander's consciousness. "That your mother published that article on the same day that you come to see me." As the vial smashed onto the floor, its dark contents spilling forth while Lysander's empty hand twitched, "Perhaps it is. But I cannot take that risk." His voice rose. "And I will _not_ let some lowly Curse-Breaker ruin everything I have worked for."

Lysander, now on his knees, managed to say, thickly, "You're Theodore Nott."

The Alchemist moved around his desk and came to stand before him. "And you truly didn't know?" As Lysander Scamander keeled over on the floor, he sighed. "What a pity."

* * *

Today was going to be perfect.

Daisy Abbott just knew it. She knew it as soon as she woke to dappled sunlight, and the sounds of the city filtering through the attic window. Her new robes were hanging in the wardrobe door, her new owl dozing in his cage, her new trunk set in the middle of the room, stuffed with her belongings… and it was astonishing, to think that she now had all of all these _things._

Indeed, when she considered how much had been spent on her in the last two weeks alone, it was enough to made her dizzy. She and Uncle Neville had trooped into Diagon Alley day after day, buying her a wand in Ollivander's, ingredients in the apothecary… and books in Flourish and Blotts: books which she opened every evening simply to breathe in their old smell.

And to think that in a few short hours, she would be seated on the Hogwarts Express - that was even more overwhelming.

"It's happening," she said to the photograph of her parents propped on her bedside table, and touched her lips to her fingers, then held them to the frame. "It's finally happening."

Downstairs in the kitchen, the wireless was on, but neither of her cousins were paying it much attention. Alice was thumbing through an issue of _Witch Weekly_ , her feet propped on the seat opposite her, while Enid knelt on the floor, rummaging through her bag. The chequered tablecloth was covered in crumbs and coffee stains, and a smell of burnt coffee filled the air.

" _The goblins are demanding better wand legislation, labour reform, and, above all, more representation in executive positions_ …"

"Most Eligible Wizard Bachelor of the Year," Alice read out from her magazine, without looking up at Daisy as she came in. "You'll never guess…"

"Geoffrey Alderton?" Enid suggested distractedly, still rifling through her bag. "Where is it? I thought I put it in one of these pockets - " Then she saw her cousin and her face brightened. "Daisy! You can help me look for my potions kit."

" _Daisy_ doesn't have time, Enid. She has to be packing for school." Something had soured in Alice's tone, and she took her feet down from the chair, throwing the _Witch Weekly_ aside. "It's Lorcan Scamander, by the way."

"I'm all packed," Daisy told Alice as she started to gather up the empty plates.

"Who did you say?" Enid frowned at her sister, her hands stilled over the straps of her bag.

"The Scamander twins, _you_ know. He's the good-looking one. He's one of the youngest executives in Gringotts. His brother's a Curse-Breaker. They graduated two years ago." Alice issued the details so rapidly that Enid appeared momentarily dazed. Her sister then turned to watch Daisy's progress. "You're not having breakfast?"

"I'm too nervous to eat," Daisy said, laughing as she put down the dishes.

"Well, you know you can't wear those to the station." Alice cast an eye over Daisy's school robes.

"Why not?"

"Because we're going by the Underground, silly. Unless you want to be stared at the whole way."

The door of the kitchen opened again, and Neville Longbottom whirled in. "Girls, I'm off. There's a Portkey waiting for me in Whitehall." Almost tripping over Enid's bag in his haste, he dropped a kiss on his bewildered daughter's head, then gave Alice's shoulders a squeeze. "You know Madam Pye's coming at ten?"

"We'll be here to meet her," Alice said, wriggling out of her father's grip. As he ran a hand over his hair, looking a little frenzied. "Go on, Dad. You'll be late."

Neville nodded rapidly, and as his daughter began to steer him towards the hall where his suitcase stood, he threw over his shoulder, "Good luck today, Daisy! I'll see you all at the feast tonight."

"Yeah, yeah, we know. Just _go_ already."

After the door had slammed shut behind Neville, Alice returned to the kitchen, shaking her head. "He's such a dope."

"Who's Madam Pye?" Daisy asked.

"Found it!" Enid squealed, and held the potions kit out in triumph, the glass containers rattling inside. She rose to her feet, put it aside and began to flip through Alice's discarded _Witch Weekly_. "So, is there a picture of this Scamander chap?"

"Yeah, here, it's on page fifty…"

"Who's Madam Pye?" Daisy repeated. The edge in her voice startled even herself. Slowly, Alice looked around at her.

"The live-in Healer who's going to take care of Mummy when we're away."

Daisy swallowed, feeling a little twist in her stomach as she thought of her aunt Hannah. "I didn't realise… things were so bad."

Alice Longbottom's face blanched. "It's just a precaution, Dad said." She bent over the magazine again, pointing out a photograph to her sister. "Look, that's him."

* * *

"That's him. The bloke I work with." Rose Weasley held out the copy of _Witch Weekly_ so that her brother and Lily could see, then promptly dropped it, cursing as a car behind blew its horn.

"Eyes on the road, sis," Hugo said, and checked his watch again. Their parents being busy that morning, Rose had offered to drive them to the station from Islington. Given that she had only recently acquired her Muggle driving licence, her brother could not help feeling a little apprehensive. Pointing, "You need to change gears."

"I know, I know," Rose said, grimacing as she manoeuvred the car forward to fill the gap that had appeared in the line of traffic in front of them. Gesturing with her free hand, "I just hate these Ministry cars; they're so old-fashioned - "

"Both hands on the wheel," Hugo muttered, and his sister made an impatient noise.

"So you work with him?" Lily Potter asked thoughtfully, as she picked up the magazine where it had fallen, by the back seat. "Lorcan Scamander? He's not bad-looking."

Curious despite himself, Hugo peered over the back of the seat and regarded the glossy photograph. It showed a wizard standing at the top of the steps outside Gringotts Bank, his arms over his front as he turned this way and that to address the crowd before him. He was not very tall, but well-built, dressed in scarlet and gold livery, his brown hair immaculately combed.

Automatically, Hugo put a hand to his own hair, which he had gelled that morning. Then he lowered it, and raised his eyebrows at Rose. "Better be careful Scorpius doesn't get jealous."

Rose let out a short, sharp laugh as she made the turn onto Hemingford Road. "Lorcan's my boss, it's not like that. And anyway…" Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, "I think Scorpius has other things on his mind."

A little uncomfortable at the shift in his sister's tone, Hugo turned to look out the window, while Lily leaned forward in her seat. "What do you mean?"

"He's been a bit distracted lately. Some kind of project he's working on, won't tell me anything about it." Rose shifted gears again, then made an obscene gesture as a pedestrian darted across the front of the car. "Merlin! I could have killed that bloke!"

"That's funny," Lily mused. "Al's been sort of off, too. Staying up late, looking at old maps…" She paused, frowning. "He didn't even leave his room to say goodbye to me this morning. I wonder if he and Scorpius are working on something together."

"Doubt it," said Hugo, as he checked his watch again. "It's quarter to. Maybe we should get out and walk."

Rose shook her head, looking a little agitated. "Mum and Dad said I had to drop you lot right there. For security reasons." Gesturing to the traffic around them, "But if this goes on, I'm going to be late for work, too. I don't know what I'll tell - "

"The lights have changed!" Hugo shot up in his seat, pointing. "Go, go!"

Rose pressed her foot on the accelerator, and the Ministry car surged forward, barely making it past the lights before the engine stalled. As his sister tried to start it up again, amid the blaring of car horns, Hugo Weasley began to resign himself to the possibility of missing the Hogwarts Express altogether.

* * *

Daisy Abbott turned her face up to look at the glass roof of King's Cross Station. It was worked in a complex diagrid pattern, and through it shone the fresh blue sky of the London morning, but the many Muggles rushing to and fro on the platforms below did not spare it a glance.

"Come on!" Alice Longbottom called from up ahead, without turning. "You've seen this place a hundred times."

"Not like this," Daisy said quietly, and looked at the trolley before her, on which had been piled her owl cage and trunk. She could feel her wand in the pocket of her coat, and put her hand over it, more to steady herself than anything else. Since buying it, she had only tried a couple of household spells here and there; she could not trust herself with anything more.

The truth was, she felt in no great hurry to follow her cousins, either; for the closer it came to the time of the train's departure, the more sick she felt. Her excitement of that morning was all but evaporated, and now her nerves were in shreds. Of course, it didn't help that Madam Pye had been late in arriving to the house, so that she, Alice and Enid had piled onto the tube in Arnos Grove with a bare twenty minutes to spare.

And now, it gave Daisy another jolt to think of her Aunt Hannah, pale and wan, being looked after by that horrid Healer instead of one of her own family, as she should have been.

As she would have been, if not for Daisy's decision.

 _Her lie_.

A Muggle woman pushing a buggy nearly bowled her over, and Daisy snapped back to attention, picking up her pace. When she reached the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10, she was just in time to see Alice vanishing into the stone with her trolley. Enid looked around, gave her cousin a cheery wave, and then followed suit. In the next instant, she too had been swallowed whole by the barrier, and then it was as though the Longbottom girls had never been.

Then, Daisy Abbott was surrounded on all sides, by strangers who jostled and pushed and shoved, and yet - she found she could not move.

It struck her, for the first time, that perhaps none of it would work. Perhaps the potion she had drunk, the half-moon symbol on her right palm… perhaps none of it would be enough; perhaps she would simply crash headlong into hard stone. After all, she was still a Squib underneath it all, wasn't she?

"I told her we should have bloody well walked!"

"Well, that's no help now, is it?"

Voices sounded right behind Daisy, and she blinked, coming out of her trance. A boy and a girl - and the boy's voice sounded familiar to her ears.

"Excuse me," Hugo Weasley said, unable to keep the impatience out of his tone. It was bad enough that he and Lily were late for the train - but now their way to the barrier was blocked, too. The girl in the white duffel coat did not move, though. His brow furrowed, then something clicked in his brain and he stepped forward. "It's you, isn't it?"

Daisy Abbott turned her head to look at him. He was still out of breath, his hair a little dishevelled from his and Lily's mad dash from the Ministry car to the platform. She, on the other hand, was sickly pale - white to the lips.

"We don't have time, Hugo," Lily Potter said from beside him, as a passing porter blew his whistle. Without turning, Hugo nodded.

"I know. You go on ahead, I'll take care of it." He put out a hand, grasping Daisy's shoulder, and beginning to steer her out of the way, luggage and all. She resisted at first, then stumbled; Hugo steadied her, nodding to his cousin, whose path to the barrier was now clear. "Go on."

With an uncertain glance back at them, Lily made a running start and disappeared into the stone.

Hugo turned Daisy around to face him, his hand still grasping the shoulder of her coat. "What are you waiting for?" The crowds of Muggles flowed around them, and he looked down into her face, pale and remote. Her mouth was clamped in a thin line, and she would not meet his gaze.

To say that he had been surprised when he had learned from his mother that the Longbottoms' Squib cousin - the same girl who had been unable to cast a spell to protect herself in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes - had developed powers overnight, and was actually attending Hogwarts… well, that would have been an understatement. But it was nothing compared to Hugo's surprise now, to see her looking so reluctant; it was almost as though she didn't want to go at all. Didn't she have any sense at all of how lucky she was?

"I won't get through," he heard her say at last.

"Rubbish," Hugo said, with authority. "Even Squibs can get through that barrier." As her eyes flashed up to his, he let go of her shoulder and raised his hands as though in surrender. "I'm not saying you're a..." At the sound of another whistle, he glanced at his watch again, and gave up. "Fine. It's up to you."

He stepped past her, shaking his head. _Well, I tried._

A touch to his sleeve. Slowly - or at least, the movement felt slow, even though he was in such a hurry that it could not possibly have been - Hugo turned his head to look down at the small, white hand clutching his arm.

"Take me with you," she said. "Please."

With a shout of warning, a porter pushed a large brass trolley across their path, breaking them apart. When he was gone, Hugo sighed. "Come on, then." He reached out, grabbed Daisy Abbott's wrist, and broke into a run. She tripped after him, luggage clattering, and for one awful moment, as the stone barrier loomed up before them, it seemed as though they would not make it.

But then the stone dissolved, and they had emerged out onto Platform 9¾, to the sound of shouts of farewell. And Daisy's eyes widened, for there it was… right there in front of her, gleaming red and spewing steam, just as magnificent as her cousins had described it.

"The Hogwarts Express," she breathed.

"And we're about to miss it." Hugo Weasley tugged her along. "Hurry up!"

Parents waving to their children veered out of their way with cries of alarm as they passed them on the platform; students hanging out of the windows pointed at the running figures and exclaimed to one another. None of it seemed to concern Hugo, as he pitched himself towards the nearest door, wrenching it open. He tossed in his suitcase and turned back to Daisy. "Your trolley!"

His voice was lost in the _chug chug_ of the train engine as it picked up speed, but she understood, grabbing hold of one end of the trunk; he another. They hauled it off the trolley and in through the door. Next, somewhat more unexpectedly, came Daisy herself, as Hugo seized her by the waist, ignoring her yelp of protest as he lifted her bodily into the carriage. She crashed onto the steps of the vestibule, and he leapt in after her, holding the owl cage.

Together, breathing hard, they watched the platform through the open door as it ran past the train, faster and faster. Then Hugo Weasley slammed it shut and turned to Daisy. "That was close. _Too_ bloody close."

She stared at him. He looked angry, his nostrils flared, as he leaned down to her level. For a moment, she thought he was going to help her up, too, but then he handed her the owl cage, and she didn't know whether she was relieved or disappointed.

"First lesson for getting on at Hogwarts," Hugo said as he straightened again. "You have to learn to do things for yourself. It isn't like any ordinary school." He picked his way over the luggage and past her; Daisy gazed at the barn owl in his cage, who was peering out at her with betrayed eyes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hugo picking up his suitcase, and blurted out,

"Thank you."

Hugo Weasley did not turn as he made for the aisle door. "I owed you one, after the accident in the shop. But don't expect me to do you any favours again."

* * *

If it had taken a long time to get her brother and cousin to King's Cross, it took nearly twice as long to cross the city again. By the time Rose Weasley had reached Diagon Alley, having left the hired Ministry car back in Grimmauld Place, she was later for work than she had ever been before.

Of course, it didn't really matter, she reminded herself as she hurried along past the market stalls, wrenching her heel out of the cobbles whenever one got stuck. It wasn't as though she was actually working at Gringotts, since she was only there as part of her _Prophet_ internship.

Though, Rose reflected, for the past two weeks it had _felt_ as though she were really working there. What with the goblin strike, the bank officials had been glad of any extra pair of hands they could get, and not a day went by that Lorcan Scamander did not stop by her desk to set her with some task that was not even remotely in her job description…

Some people would have minded that, but Rose didn't, because it was quite a while since she had felt really useful - really important. It had only been two weeks, but all the same, she felt that the routine in Gringotts had cemented itself into her life; she felt attuned to the place.

Which was why, as she stepped through the silver doors and into the bank, she knew, instantly, that something was wrong.

It wasn't anything immediately apparent to the outside eye. The place was more crowded than usual, but that was because of the strike; since the day it was announced, the whole of wizarding Britain had been living in the constant fear that they would be locked out of their accounts: a fear reinforced by the fact that they had repeatedly been assured otherwise by Lorcan and the other executives.

Rose felt something nonetheless: a kind of wrongness, a disruption to the ordinary rhythms of the place. She felt it as she ascended the white stone staircase to the offices upstairs. Inside, no one seemed to want to meet her eye, though she saw several people whom she recognised at their various cubicles. At the other end of the office, through the glass window of Bill Weasley's office, she saw her uncle hunched over, talking to another wizard; she could only see the back of their head.

As Rose stood there in her blouse and skirt, a little uncertain, the door to the office opened and Bill emerged. He looked drawn and pale, and had his arm about the other wizard's shoulders; Rose saw now that it was Lorcan Scamander. A hush fell over the cubicles as the two wizards crossed down the aisle; then Lorcan shook off Bill's arm and quickened his pace. He passed within inches of Rose without looking at her, and slammed the door shut behind him as he left.

Rose caught her uncle at the top of the stairs. "Bill! What's wrong? What's happening?"

Bill Weasley did not stop, or turn. "Wait!" Rose hurried after him as he began to descend the steps, the clatter of her heels on the stone echoing off the domed ceilings above. "Please, tell me what's going on!"

With a deep sigh, her uncle halted on the staircase and turned, and in the dim light, Rose could see what looked like tears in his eyes. "We've lost one of our Curse-Breakers."

Rose felt frozen in horror as her mind jumped to her friend Nina Meyer, who had been posted to Athens some time ago. " _Who_?"

"Lysander Scamander," was her uncle's quiet response, and Rose felt weak with relief - then, a moment later, deeply guilty. Lorcan's brother… His _twin_ …

"I have to go," Bill said wearily. "There's a lot to do." With a last glance at her, "Take the day off, Rosie."

"But - " Rose's protests died on the staircase as her uncle disappeared into the dimness, her mind in turmoil.

* * *

Daisy Abbott poked her head through the gap in the glass door. "I'm sorry, are you saving those seats?"

The sole occupant of the compartment, a girl who looked to be about thirteen, did not look up from the _Quibbler_ she was reading. Taking her silence as acquiescence, Daisy edged the door open with her sneakered toe and hauled her trunk inside. It landed with a _thump_ on the floor, and the girl started to her feet with a shriek.

"What are you doing, creeping up on people like that? You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"I'm sorry," Daisy said, baffled. "I did ask."

"What?" The girl gave her a blank look, then started. "Oh, hang on." She reached up to take out a pair of earplugs shaped like mushrooms. "Forgot I had these in." Throwing them on the seat, she said by way of explanation, "Some of the features in the _Quibbler_ come with sound bites."

Daisy looked curiously at the girl. She had brown hair, cut as short as a boy's, and was covered in freckles, as though she had been out in the sun all summer. The skin of her nose was peeling, and there was something familiar about her face.

"I'm Lu," the girl said then, thrusting out a hand. "Lucinda Scamander's my full name, but everyone calls me Lu for short."

"Daisy Abbott," replied the other girl, shaking it a little warily. "So, do you mind if I sit…"

"Of course!" Lu exclaimed, with startling warmth. "No one else seemed to want to sit here." With a toothy grin, "Can't think why."

Daisy thought of the crowded compartments she had passed all the way down the train, and felt a little sorry for the girl. She turned and began to lift her trunk.

"Oh, do you want some help?" Lu said eagerly from behind her, and without waiting for a response, she raised her wand and waved it in a wide motion. Daisy's trunk opened and spilled forth rolled-up clothes, books and quills, then slammed to the ground, narrowly missing her feet.

"I'm so sorry!" The Scamander girl had sprung to her feet again, grimacing. Though younger, she stood a head taller than Daisy. Bending, she started to help putting away the upended contents of her trunk. "My mum showed me that spell. She used to teach me at home, but since things got busier with the magazine they decided to send me to school this year." Picking up Daisy's copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ , she frowned. "Isn't this for first years?"

"This is my first year at school as well."

Lu wheeled around to stare at her. "What? But you're old! I - I mean..." Her brow furrowing, "Sorry, that was rude, wasn't it?"

Daisy laughed as she refolded a dress. "It's OK. They thought I was a Squib until - a short time ago." She looked down, at the white half-moon carved into the skin of her palm, then curled her fingers over it. "I'm starting at fifth-year level, but they're going to assign me a mentor to go through some of the basic stuff."

"Me too!" Lu was still staring at her, fascinated. "So you must have gone to a Muggle school before now?"

"Ashmole Academy, in Southgate."

" _That_ sounds fancy."

"I hated it," Daisy said, with a finality that surprised even herself as she snapped shut her trunk.

"I loved learning at home," Lu said thoughtfully, as she resumed her seat. She watched Daisy settle across from her. "I cried when Mum told me I was going to Hogwarts." After a moment's consideration, "What House do you want to be Sorted into?"

"Well, my cousins are in Gryffindor, so I…"

"Everyone always wants to be in Gryffindor," Lu scoffed. "My brothers were both Gryffindors, and they never let me forget it." Tilting her head to one side, "I wouldn't mind Slytherin." At Daisy's look of surprise, "Well, it would be different, wouldn't it?"

Shadows crept along the walls of the compartment as the train rattled along, past bleak, deserted industrial estates where yellow smoke climbed the sky. Lu Scamander chattered on happily, and Daisy found her mind beginning to drift. She thought of Alice and Enid, in their prefects' meeting - with Hugo Weasley, no doubt.

The way he had spoken to her earlier, as though she were an unruly child… she wished she had said something to stand up for herself, instead of just cowering there on the steps. How was it that every time she met him, he seemed to get ruder?

Then again, she reminded herself, if not for him, she would not be here right now. And he had said that he owed her, after the incident in the shop; which must mean that he had felt bad about it. As well as that, her mind kept replaying the memory of him lifting her onto the train, the way his hands had felt on her waist, however brief the touch had been...

A rap on the window started her from her thoughts, and Daisy sat up, blushing.

"Daisy's such a nice name," Lu was saying. "I can't stand _Lucinda_. Mum only uses it when she's really cross."

"Did you hear that?" Daisy said. At Lu's shrug, she stood and opened the window, leaning out, then promptly ducked as a bundle of feathers came hurtling right into the compartment.

"That's funny," Lu said, rising. "I've seen that owl before." She detached the piece of parchment from the owl's leg, read it, and went white.

"Is everything OK?" Daisy said, alarmed.

"Fine," Lucinda Scamander said, but there was a funny catch to her voice as she crumpled up the parchment. "It's just rubbish. Some kind of stupid joke." More firmly, as though willing it to be true, "It _has_ to be."

* * *

By the time the prefects' meeting broke up, they were passing the old spires and rippling river of Cambridge town. Hugo Weasley, despite his best delay tactics, which included feigning interest in the forms that the Head Boy was handing out, found Alice Longbottom waiting for him as soon as he stepped out into the aisle.

"Looking forward to patrols?" she asked eagerly, falling into step beside him. Then, with a glance at the form in his hand, "Oh, are you signing up for that mentoring thing?"

"Oh - er, no," Hugo said, with an uncomfortable laugh, as he stuffed the form in his bag. "I won't have time."

"Me neither," Alice said, tossing her black curls rather impressively over one shoulder. "I'll be so busy with Music Club." She glanced sidelong at Hugo to catch his reaction, but he was distracted as they emerged into the next carriage to hear the sounds of a commotion.

He saw Daisy Abbott first, her face stricken as she attempted to placate a younger girl, who was struggling away from her and crying out, "Tell him to stop the train!" Sobbing, "Tell him I need to get off!"

"I don't think you can - " Daisy began, biting her lip, and then Alice, with another glance at Hugo, came forward at a quick, confident stride, her high-heeled boots making an authoritative _whack_ on the floor.

"What's the matter? I'm a prefect."

This appeared to have an effect on the girl, whose sobs quieted as she peered up at Alice. Her face was freckled and puffy with tears. "I need to… see the driver," she said, and then, with renewed agitation, "He has to stop this train!"

"I think she's had some bad news," Daisy said nervously. "There was an owl…"

"What's your name?" Alice said to the crying girl, in a gentler voice than Hugo had ever heard her use before.

The girl mumbled something indistinct, but Alice nodded as though she had understood. "Well, Lucy…" Putting an arm around the girl's shoulders, "Will you let us bring you to the driver? And we'll sort something out together?"

Ducking her head, the girl nodded, and Alice gave her shoulders a squeeze before ushering her along. Hugo, clearing his throat and adjusting the badge on his shirt, followed at her heels.

"I should come, too." Daisy Abbott's voice came from behind, anxious and earnest. She had been clasping and unclasping her hands for the past minute, and now she was hurrying up the aisle after them. Hugo resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Lu might need..."

"It's better not to crowd her," Alice said sagely, looking back over the girl's shoulder at her cousin. "Can you tell Enid where we've gone? She's in the next carriage over."

They walked on, leaving the Abbott girl behind, and were silent for a minute or so, until Alice clicked her tongue and said, "Daisy's _so_ sweet. Always looking out for everyone."

Hugo couldn't help but smile. She looked at him. "What?"

"Nothing." He reached out and patted the younger girl's shoulder as she burst into fresh tears, then met Alice's gaze over her head. "Well, I know she's your cousin and all, but she's a bit of a handful, isn't she?"

Alice Longbottom resolutely faced forward, though her mouth twitched in a smile. "You shouldn't say that. She has a hard time making friends, you know." She gave him a stern look. "Promise me you'll be nice to her."

"I promise," Hugo said, still smiling, and glanced again at Alice Longbottom as she bent to address the girl. His gaze swept over her glossy black curls, her full lips and blue-grey eyes. Then, as the train gave a jolt, the girl's sobs became louder, and further attempts at conversation became impossible.

* * *

Rose Weasley fiddled with the dials of the wireless, listened to the garbled voices coming through the crackling interference, and then cursed, shaking her head.

"What are you doing?" Scorpius asked, shielding his eyes with one hand as he emerged into the sun. To call the strip of grass behind the Malfoys' townhouse a garden would have been a bit of an exaggeration; it was just large enough to hold a couple of deckchairs, a toy broomstick half-buried in old leaves that one of his cousins had left behind, and a round, rickety table over which Rose was currently bent.

"Making good use of your day off?" She grinned up at him. After Bill had sent her home from Gringotts early, she had returned to the house to find Scorpius napping.

"Mmm." Scorpius stretched, yawned, and then moved to his girlfriend's chair and dropped a kiss on her head.

"You won't be able to sleep properly tonight, you know."

"Oh well." He wrapped his arms around her waist from where he stood behind her, and she turned to look up at him again, eyebrows raised.

"Don't tell me you're going out again?" Taking his silence as confirmation, Rose sighed and gently detached herself from him. "Are you planning on telling me what's going on soon?"

"Soon," Scorpius promised, and watched her as she bent over the wireless once more. "You know that's already tuned onto the WWN."

"I'm looking for the Egyptian channel."

"EMP News? Here, let me." Scorpius leaned in, then at her sound of protest, rolled his eyes. "My dad used to listen to it for work."

"You'd better know what you're doing," Rose warned, sitting back to give him room as he started flicking through the stations. "If you lose my place…"

She broke off as a crash of cymbals emanated from the wireless, followed by the voice of a newsreader speaking in rapid Arabic. Stepping back again, Scorpius sketched a bow.

"Of course, there's just one problem," he began, after they had both been listening for a moment.

Rose smacked his arm. "That _did_ occur to me. I'm not an idiot, you know." She nodded towards the windowsill, where a quill was hovering before a piece of parchment, scrawling from right to left. "It's taking down every word."

Scorpius nodded slowly. "And then a Translation Spell, I suppose?"

"Precisely."

"You _are_ clever." His arms crept around her waist again, and he bent his head, kissing her hair. Rose's low laugh tickled his ear.

"Stop distracting me." As the bulletin ended with another crash of cymbals, Rose gently shook him off and made her way over to the parchment. Scorpius followed her across the grass, watching as she held her wand over the writing and murmured, " _Converto_."

Before their wondering eyes, the Arabic script rearranged itself into English on the parchment. It was not a perfect translation; the words ran together in Scorpius's head as he read over Rose's shoulder.

 _English Curse-Breaker perished_ … _Lysander Scamander… Centre of Alchemical Study, Alexandria… cause of death confirmed by Healer George Ripley… the Curse of Caracalla…_

"It _is_ true," Rose whispered, when they had both been reading together for a few minutes. Overhead, they could hear the rumble of an airplane in the sky. Unconsciously, Scorpius had put a protective arm about her shoulders. She turned to look at him again. "My uncle Bill told me about it today. The WWN must still be in the process of contacting the family, since they haven't picked it up yet."

Scorpius shook his head. "That's Lorcan Scamander's twin brother, isn't it?" His voice was hushed. "I'm sorry, Rose."

"I don't understand it," she said shakily, leaning back against him. Scorpius planted a kiss on her neck, and was silent. From outside the dusty brick walls that enclosed them drifted the sound of children's laughter, and beyond that, the sounds of the city: raised voices, roaring traffic, tinny bells and shattering glass.

* * *

Daisy Abbott gazed out the window of the train. The day had worn on into evening, and her conversation with her cousin Enid had long since fizzled out. Now they were passing across a bridge, and in the surface of the river far below she could see another Hogwarts Express, curling around the track like a gleaming red snake. Moments later, the picture scattered into millions of shining drops as a flock of ducks took flight, their wings churning up the water.

"Merlin, it's as if someone died in here," came a boy's voice, and looking up, Daisy saw that the compartment door had slid open, admitting Alice Longbottom, Lily Potter, Hugo Weasley, and another wizard whom she did not recognise: the wizard who had spoken.

"Is Lucinda OK?" Daisy asked anxiously. Hugo glanced at her as he took the seat beside Enid. He had put on his school robes, and was fiddling with the sleeves.

"She's still very upset," Alice said, with a mournful quality to her tone which Daisy found unreasonably irritating. "The trolley witch is looking after her now. But I owled her father, and he's going to pick her up at Hogsmeade Station."

"Good call," Hugo said, with a smile to Alice, and she coloured under his gaze. When next she spoke, the mournfulness had gone from her tone, and she just sounded pleased.

"Well, anyone would have done the same." Dropping her voice, "The poor thing didn't know _anyone_." Turning to Daisy, "She's starting this year, like you."

"I know," Daisy said, trying to hide her annoyance. "I was talking to her."

The other wizard, dropping down in the seat beside her, said to the Longbottom girls, "Is this your sister?"

"Cousin," Alice corrected.

"Her magic only recently surfaced," Enid supplied.

The wizard held out a hand, but Daisy, unsure, hesitated a fraction too long; he dropped it again, looking miffed, and Hugo laughed.

"You scare all the girls, McCubbin."

"Shut it, Weasley." The wizard looked Daisy up and down as though she were a prize pony. He was broader than Hugo, with prominent ears, the effect of which was not helped by his buzzed haircut. "She's hardly a first year, is she?" As the situation was explained to him, he looked aghast.

"But how are you going to catch up? That's four years you've missed out on."

There was an awkward pause, during which Alice said, " _Stephen_ ," in admonitory tones, and then Daisy mumbled, "I've been studying a bit… and there's this mentoring programme that's supposed to help."

"Hear that, Hugo?" said Lily Potter, laughing. "Maybe you'll be assigned together."

Hugo looked positively alarmed at the prospect. With a glance at Alice, who was now pointedly perusing her _Witch Weekly_ , "I told you I'm not doing that."

"That's not what your dad told me," Lily said in a sing-song voice.

"Yeah, well, he can believe what he wants to believe." Hugo leaned back against his seat, rolled his shoulders and yawned. "Ugh, I'm starving." His gaze landed on Daisy, who was chewing on a Cauldron Cake. "Are you going to eat that?"

She turned confused eyes on him, but then saw that he was pointing to the pumpkin pasty on the seat beside her, and shook her head. "Cheers." Hugo surged forward from his seat, passing within a few inches of her as he snatched up the pasty. Disconcerted by his momentary closeness, Daisy found herself remembering, yet again, how easily he had picked her up when they were running to catch the train. She could not help looking at him now, at his rolled-up sleeves that revealed tanned, muscled arms, at the sun playing over his face…

"Weasley's too fond of his treats," Stephen McCubbin said to Daisy out of the corner of his mouth. "Another reason why Broadmoor should have chosen me as captain."

"Oi," Hugo said through a mouthful of pastry. "Don't think I won't hex you, just because there are ladies present."

"Ladies?" Lily Potter repeated. Her laughing eyes moved from Alice to Enid, then Daisy. "Does he mean us?"

"Weasley won't be letting any ladies on his team this year," Stephen McCubbin said, with a glint of mischief in his eye. "With good reason, too." In a whirl of red hair, Lily was on her feet, wand out.

"Hey, hey," Hugo said, putting out his hands to stop his cousin's arms. "It's not a fair fight. The man doesn't have his wand!"

"Take it back," Lily snapped, but McCubbin smiled serenely up at her.

"Take what back, that girls can't play Quidditch? Why don't we test my theory first?" He nudged Daisy. "Little Longbottom, how about it?"

"Her name's not Longbottom," Alice said at once. "It's Abbott. Her dad was my mum's brother."

"Abbott, whatever." McCubbin turned in his seat, stroking his chin for a moment, and then burst out, "What colours do the Caerphilly Catapults wear?"

Daisy blinked. "The… who?"

A groan from the others in the compartment. "That's too difficult," Lily protested. She had sat down again, tucking her wand in her pocket, but still looked angry. McCubbin held up his hands.

"Fine, fine. A more basic one, then." Turning towards Daisy, "What's the time limit for a regular Quidditch match?"

Her brow creased. "Two days?"

More groans. "There _is_ no time limit," McCubbin said, gleeful now. Glancing around at the others, "But she has to get this one. I'll let her off then. Who won the last Quidditch World Cup?"

Daisy's face felt hot. She could sense everyone's gazes on her. "I don't really… follow that stuff."

"Come on, Daisy," Alice coaxed. "It was just a few years back, in Geneva - and I went with Dad, remember?"

"I don't know," Daisy repeated, flatly.

Hugo Weasley gave an incredulous laugh, and McCubbin looked delighted. "Case in point."

"That proves nothing," Lily shot back, and then, rising from her seat, she addressed the other witches once more. "Come on, we _ladies_ had better get dressed. We'll be there soon."

* * *

The platform of Hogsmeade Station was dark and chilly. Daisy Abbott shivered as the wind swept through her thick robes, sending them flapping around her ankles. It felt bone-cold, as though it came right from those blue mountains she had seen from her window on the way here.

She wondered where Lucinda was, but could make out no one she recognised among the crowd of students swarming the platform. They were knocking into one another and talking loudly as they made their way for a line of horseless carriages at the far end of the platform, whose windows spilled yellow light over the dark stone.

"Quick, let's get one," Alice Longbottom said as she stepped down from the train, Enid at her heels. As her cousin started forward, "Not _you_. You have to wait here for Madam Bulstrode."

"Who's Madam Bulstrode?" Daisy said, and as if on cue, a lamp materialised out of the silken dark.

"First years!" called a gruff woman's voice. "First years, follow me!"

Daisy's stomach turned over, and she looked back at her cousins. "I suppose I'll - see you lot at the feast?"

Alice had already turned away, nudging her sister and pointing further up the train, to where Hugo, Lily and McCubbin were alighting with their luggage. Enid met Daisy's gaze for an instant, and gave what was evidently supposed to be a reassuring smile. "Hope you get into Gryffindor!"

She followed after Alice, her figure soon swallowed up by the crowd of robed students.

The lamp neared and swung right in Daisy's face; she blinked away in alarm as the face of a witch with cropped black hair loomed over her. Lit from below, the weird shadows made her jutting jaw appear all the larger. "Are you a first year?"

"No," Daisy said hesitantly. "I'm starting late."

"Oh yes. There's a few others like you, I think." The witch straightened, lifting her lamp higher. A knot of first years had by now gathered around; looking at them, Daisy was struck by how much smaller than her they were. They stared back at her, a couple of them whispering and giggling amongst themselves, and she felt grateful for the dark that concealed her blush.

"Do we have everyone?" the witch called, and Daisy looked in vain for the figure of Lucinda Scamander on the platform, which was now rapidly emptying. "All right, then. My name is Millicent Bulstrode, and I'm the Keeper of Keys and Grounds here at Hogwarts. I'll be escorting you across the lake." She set off, lamp swinging, and the students, after a moment's uncertain whispering, began to hurry after her.

They came off the platform and onto a shady path that wound through thick-knotted trees. The smell of damp rose to greet them, and in the dark several students tripped over the hem of their own robes, or on roots that protruded over the path. Daisy, walking a little ahead, placed her feet carefully.

"Why the long face?" Looking up, she saw that she had fallen into step with the gamekeeper.

"I'm just a little nervous." Daisy looked down, but she sensed the witch's gaze still on her. After a moment, with a glance back at the students behind, Madam Bulstrode said, lowering her voice,

"They can laugh and point all they want. No skin off your nose." As Daisy looked up at her, shading her eyes with one hand from the lamp's bright glow, the gamekeeper smiled grimly. "Believe me, _I_ know what's it like to stick out."

They rounded a corner on the path, and the trees cleared around them. Madam Bulstrode came to a halt, and raised her voice so that it carried back to the rest of the party. "Here we are!"

Daisy Abbott's jaw dropped. The other students around her exclaimed and pointed, but she remained utterly still, drinking in the view before them: the vast black lake, marred by a thousand wrinkles that skittered away across the dark water as they watched, the great, sprawling castle that took up most of the night sky, the friendly specks of light that dotted the turrets and towers...

"That's Hogwarts." Madam Bulstrode lowered her lamp, and its light fell across a fleet of small boats, grounded in the shallows of the lake right below them. There were a few groans from the students. "And that's how we'll be getting there."

* * *

The Great Hall echoed with hundreds of voices as Hugo Weasley took his seat at the Gryffindor table. Floating candles shed their glow on the empty plates, and he looked at them wistfully.

"I hope the Sorting doesn't take too long. I'm _starved_."

Beside him, Lily Potter rolled her eyes. "Has anyone ever told you that you have an unhealthy obsession with food?"

"Oh, just 'cause you don't eat anything." Hugo nudged his cousin, and snorted. "Seekers."

At that moment, the baleful voice of Nearly Headless Nick sounded behind, causing them both to jump. "I believe the Head Boy wants to speak to you, Hugo."

Zane Shacklebolt was scribbling furiously on some parchment, and only briefly looked up when Hugo came to a halt beside him at the Ravenclaw table. "Have you got your form signed yet?"

Hugo looked at him blankly. Zane folded the parchment, and carefully placed it in a folder which he tucked under his seat. "The mentoring form. It has to be signed by this evening. If you bring it up to Professor Harris, she can take care of it for you."

Hugo made a face. "Er - well, see the thing is, I mightn't have time to do it, after all." He gestured with his hands, a little helplessly. "What with training the team, and everything…"

"Right." The Head Boy looked faintly amused. "I thought you were signing up because of the detentions. But if you don't have time, you don't have time."

"Yeah, sorry mate." Hugo made to return to his table, then wheeled back a second later. "Wait - what detentions?"

Now Zane looked a bit uncomfortable. "Your detentions from last year? I had a look at your record, and there are some uncompleted ones."

"You mean they carried over to this year?" Hugo cursed, running a hand through his hair.

Shacklebolt nodded grimly. "So unless you want to devote two hours a week to scrubbing trophies with Peeping Tomgallon, you might want to make up the points in other ways."

Over at the staff table, the caretaker Mr. Tomgallon was seated at the end, gazing intently at some Hufflepuff seventh-year girls as he chewed on mint leaves, his shock of black hair utterly incongruous with his wrinkled face. Hugo grimaced. "Maybe not." His gaze shifted to the plump Professor Harris beside him. "Do you reckon I still have time before the Sorting?"

The Head Boy checked his watch. "Maybe if you run."

* * *

Daisy Abbott had never been very fond of boats, so for the duration of the journey across the lake, she had clung to the stern, her eyes closed as she tried not to notice how the boat dipped with her added weight. Now, as they climbed the steps to the Entrance Hall, she still felt unsteady. It was difficult to tell, however, if her wobbly legs did not have more to do with the fact that in a few minutes, her fate would be decided.

Perhaps the Sorting Hat would give her away, denounce her as a Squib in front of the entire school... the thought was paralysing. Instinctively, her eyes sought the figure of her uncle, who was leading the group of first years towards the Hall. When he had come into the waiting chamber a few minutes ago, it had been strange to hear him introduce himself to the first years as "Professor Longbottom". But his eyes had met hers, and held them for a moment, with kind reassurance.

It was just enough to keep her feet moving, until they reached the grand double doors of the Great Hall, and Neville motioned for them to stop. For a moment, there was no sound but the rustle of robes, and Daisy could feel her heartbeat throbbing in her ears.

Then the long doors opened, and they were herded through into the Great Hall. Daisy's mind, frozen with terror, received only a vague impression of candlelit faces, a purple ceiling and the smell of pumpkin spice, before they reached the top of the hall and came to a halt in the aisle. She was painfully aware of the fact that she was the tallest student in the group, and convinced that every whisper, every pointing finger, was directed towards her.

Professor Longbottom placed an old, mouldy-looking hat on a stool, then took a step back. As the students watched, a gash opened near the brim of the hat, contracted and then lengthened as though it were a muscle stretching, and then, to Daisy's amazement, began to sing.

" _Empires have fallen and wars been won_

 _Since first I sang my song,_

 _And in all that time, making rhyme after rhyme,_

 _I have learnt that a Hat can be wrong._

 _For who can tell, wizard or witch,_

 _What lies deep in the mind?_

 _Thoughts can be read, so to me all are led,_

 _But some things even I cannot find._

 _Those of Godric's House stand firm_

 _Against any foe they can see,_

 _And Hufflepuffs to friends are true to the end,_

 _Though unworthy they may be._

 _Slytherins carve their paths alone,_

 _And in all things their own counsel keep._

 _While Rowena's kin have but one mortal sin:_

 _Their minds put their hearts to sleep._

 _Therefore, heed these words,_

 _You who seek to be placed_

 _With those whom you fear or admire._

 _Each virtue becomes vice_

 _With a roll of Merlin's dice,_

 _And time proves the greatest liar._ "

When the song was finished, a murmur swept through the Hall. Professor Longbottom stepped forward, turned and scanned the crowd of first-year students. He produced a long scroll and began to read.

It took Daisy Abbott a moment to realise that her name had been called; the Sorting Hat's song had swept her away with its strange rhythms and dissonances. Then, feeling suddenly that she was at the centre of a horrible, suspended silence, she started forward. Of course she was first. Of course she was. It was better this way, she told herself over and over as her legs mechanically propelled her forward. She sat on the stool a little harder than she had intended, looked out over the sea of staring faces, and felt sick.

Neville placed the Hat on her head, and darkness descended over her.

For what might have been an hour or a minute, she could hear nothing. The material of the Hat felt itchy on her ears. She did not know exactly what to expect. But then a voice spoke to her, sly and wheedling, and utterly different from the one which had sung the song. It sounded ancient - older than that witch Moribund's.

It said: "You don't belong here."

Daisy could have sworn her heart stopped, for a fraction of a second. Her hands, slippery with sweat, curled into fists, but then the voice laughed, a dry, rasping sound. "You needn't worry. They can't hear us - and I won't tell them."

 _Why not_? The thought pierced through Daisy's consciousness, as she tried to breathe normally, and the Hat laughed again. "It's not for your sake. I have turned away Squibs before." A pause. When it spoke once more, it sounded grim. "But it is different now. There is magic in you, however you came by it."

The image flashed into her mind of the half-moon symbol Moribund had carved into her palm, and she hurriedly stifled it, hoping the Hat had not seen. Whether or not it did, she did not know, for it went on, still thoughtful, "And so you must be Sorted. But... you will find that life at Hogwarts is not what you expect."

 _I don't care_ , Daisy thought, with a sudden ferocity. _Just put me in Gryffindor - put me with Alice and Enid and Hugo Weasley. That's all I ask._ She closed her eyes, even though she could see nothing with them open. _Put me in Gryffindor - or tell them everything._

"I will not tell them," the Sorting Hat said firmly, "Because it is not my secret to tell. It is yours, and one day it will escape you." It paused, for what felt like a long time, and then said, "You want to be in Gryffindor. But you are not brave."

Daisy felt a lump forming at the back of her throat. _Then I don't belong here,_ she thought furiously.

"But you want to belong." The words were coming faster now, more decisive. "You want friends. You want to be loved for yourself, whatever little you might have to offer. To me, that sounds an awful lot like - HUFFLEPUFF!"

The Sorting Hat's voice rang out through the Hall, and it was whisked off Daisy's head before she knew what was happening. She blinked in the light as a smattering of applause sounded around her.

Later, she did not remember how she had found her way to the right table - whether someone had helped her, or she had blindly stumbled there. The rest of the Sorting ceremony, too, seemed to have gone by in the blink of an eye; the next thing Daisy Abbott knew, she was seated in a sea of yellow and black, listening to the sounds of merriment all around her and staring at her own distorted reflection in her empty plate, while the Sorting Hat's words resonated through her head.

* * *

"It'sa foul. Grabbing someone else's broomtail during a match is called blagging." Hugo Weasley arranged two green beans at the side of his mashed potatoes, and pointed to them with his fork. "See, pretend that's me, and that's Pratt. Now, if I move like _this_ \- "

The demonstration, performed for the benefit of Alice Longbottom, was cut short as a hush fell over the Great Hall. In surprise, Hugo and his fellow Gryffindors looked up to see Professor Broadmoor rising from the staff table. Pointing a wand at his throat, he began to speak, his magically magnified voice filling the Hall.

"I have… a sad announcement to make. Some of you might have heard already about the sudden death of a Gringotts Curse-Breaker in Alexandria last night. His family having been notified, I am now at liberty to tell you his name: Lysander Scamander." A shocked ripple went through the Hall, and the Headmaster continued, "Lysander was a former student here, graduated only two years ago. His sister was supposed to be starting school today, but given the exceptional circumstances, we will allow her to be Sorted when she is free to return. I know that you will all show her the kindness and care she deserves, as your fellow classmate." Broadmoor paused, his face troubled as he looked around the Great Hall. "If we could now observe a minute's silence for the Scamander family in this difficult time."

When the minute had passed, the buzz of conversation that ensued had lost some of its vigour. Hugo Weasley looked down at his green beans, and felt that he could not conscionably continue with his demonstration. Alice was shaking her head, and murmuring to the girl next to her that she could not believe it.

"So little Longbottom won't be joining us," said Stephen McCubbin, from Hugo's other side.

"Abbott," Hugo corrected, grateful to the distraction. He craned his neck to see across to the Hufflepuff table, where he could just make out the blonde head of Daisy Abbott as she talked to the Fat Friar. "Can't say I'm surprised."

"Really?" McCubbin took a drink of pumpkin juice, then wiped his mouth. "Why not?"

Hugo thought of the Abbott girl, rooted to the spot before the barrier in King's Cross that morning, and shrugged his shoulders. "She just… didn't strike me as the Gryffindor type."

McCubbin laughed; they moved to discuss other matters, and Hugo did not notice the smile on Alice Longbottom's face as she turned away from the conversation.

* * *

The Hufflepuff common room was more pleasant and comfortable than it had any right to be, considering that it was the least-favoured House in Hogwarts. The overstuffed yellow armchairs, soft, plush carpets and crackling, friendly fire all invited relaxation. Still more charming were the dormitories, with their little round doors and fluffy carpets, but once she had unpacked her things, Daisy Abbott felt no relief in contemplating her four-poster bed. She felt tired, but wide awake; the events of the day whirling about in her mind. Lucinda Scamander… Hugo and the Gryffindors… the Sorting Hat… and Hufflepuff.

" _Hufflepuff_ ," Daisy said quietly, to herself, and could not help but feel a little disgusted with how things had turned out.

Out in the common room, the girls sharing her dormitory, to whom she had briefly been introduced, and promptly forgotten all of their names, were playing Gobstones with the sixth-year boys. At their half-hearted invitation, Daisy joined in for a few rounds, but after being drenched in putrid liquid for the third time in as many minutes, accompanied by what she felt to be excessive amusement on the part of her new Housemates, found her patience wearing thin.

"Daisy!" The seventh-year Ryan Pratt hailed her from one of the armchairs as she was in the process of escaping back to the dormitory. He was polishing his broomstick, the firelight gleaming in his slicked-back hair.

"Ryan," she greeted, stopping by his chair a little reluctantly. "Funny to see you out of the Leaky Cauldron."

"Funny to see _you_ here," he rejoined. Casting an eye over her slime-covered clothes, "So I see you've been initiated into Hufflepuff?"

Daisy winced and nodded, with a glance back at the Gobstones players as they cheered uproariously.

"I hope you'll be coming to the matches?" Ryan went on. "Showing support for your new House?"

For the first time, Daisy noticed the badge fastened to his T-shirt. "You're captain! I'd forgotten."

"For my sins." Ryan made a face. "If I can beat Hugo Weasley to the Quidditch Cup this year, I'll die a happy wizard."

Daisy thought of Hugo and McCubbin's laughing faces, and said, with a resolution that surprised even herself, "We need that Cup."

"That's the spirit," Ryan said, grinning. Putting down his polish, he added, with forced nonchalance, "How are your cousins, by the way? Enid and - er - Alice?"

"Fine," Daisy said offhandedly. "Probably doing prefect stuff." Then an idea came to her, and she straightened, putting the towel aside. "Say, Ryan, how long do we have left till curfew?"

The Quidditch captain gave a shrug. "A half-hour, maybe? Why?"

"Can you tell me how to get to Gryffindor Tower?"

* * *

Hundreds of miles south, night had also fallen over London, and for the two wizards meeting in the heart of Knockturn Alley, it had been a day of discovery.

"Where in Merlin did you find this place?" Albus Potter said, looking around the dingy parlour. In the greasy light of the oil lamp, his critical gaze took in the boarded-up windows, the painting hung with a ragged cloth, and the dusty glasses of Firewhiskey that the serving witch had set before them.

"I thought we'd have a little more privacy here," Scorpius Malfoy said neutrally. He glanced past Albus to the door, through which laughter and shouts drifted from the taproom of the White Wyvern. "My dad used to meet people here, during the War."

"In his Death Eater days?" Albus took a sip of his drink, more out of formality than anything else; he had never been a fan of Blishen's, which was the only brand of Firewhiskey they sold here. "Charming."

"You asked." Scorpius raised his own glass, turning it in the light without drinking any.

Albus leaned across the table. "So what have you found out?"

Scorpius raised his wand. " _Muffliato_." Once the noise from the taproom had faded to a distant clamour, the protective bubble forming around them, he drew out the piece of parchment and spread it on the table. They both looked down at the crude map of the Forbidden Forest. "It's older than it looks," Scorpius said. "I had Wright test it yesterday in the shop, and his estimate was twenty years."

"Twenty years?" Albus repeated, frowning.

"At least." Scorpius pocketed his wand again. "So even if this map once led to the Resurrection Stone, it can't still be there after all this time. Someone will have retrieved it."

"Maybe not." There was a pause, then Albus shifted in his seat, the chair creaking beneath him as he did so. "I was able to have a look in the Ministry archives, with Dad's card. And I came across some reports… relatively recent."

"What kind of reports?"

Albus Potter looked down, the gleam of the oil lamp lighting his forehead strangely, and pointed to the spot on the map that was marked with the round sign of the Resurrection Stone. "We know that this part of the Forbidden Forest is occupied by centaurs, right?"

"Right." Scorpius grimaced as he took a sip of Blishen's; clearly, he was no great lover of the brand, either.

"Well, I found some files on the Forest," Albus went on, "and over the past couple of years, the Hogwarts board has submitted more than half a dozen complaints to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Complaints made on behalf of the centaurs in the Forest, who claimed that they were being driven out of their territory."

"By what?"

"That part wasn't clear." Albus pushed up his glasses, rubbing the ridge of his forehead. "The centaurs described them as wraiths, or spectres… Shadow Men was the name one of them used."

Scorpius felt a chill run down his spine. "Dementors?"

But Albus Potter shook his head. "Can't be. These creatures, whatever they are, have no Ministry classification. Because they weren't sighted by anyone other than the centaurs, there's even some doubt as to whether they really exist." He blew out his breath. "But _I'm_ wondering, if the images produced when you use the Resurrection Stone, the images of your loved ones…" His voice cracked a little on the last couple of words, but Scorpius pretended not to notice, "... if they're what these centaurs sighted?"

Slowly, Scorpius nodded. "Sounds an awful lot like Necromancy." He lowered his voice, even though it was not necessary with the Muffling spell. "And if these reports were submitted in the last few years…"

"Then the Stone must still be in the Forest," Albus concluded. "And we can't be the only ones who know it's there."

There was a silence. Scorpius traced the rim of his glass, but did not pick it up again. At last,

"I'm not comfortable keeping this from Rose."

"Scorpius," Albus said levelly. "You know why we can't tell people yet."

"Because of your brother. I know."

"I want James back as much as any of them." Albus Potter's voice grew hard. "And believe me when I say that every night, I dream about finding that bastard Nott and ripping him to shreds." He exhaled sharply. "But if Lily knew - if any of them knew…"

"They'd want to use the Resurrection Stone to call him back," Scorpius finished.

"And we can't let that happen. My dad never meant for it to be used that way again." Albus looked down at the scratched wooden surface of the table. "Much as we might like to." After a moment, he rapped his knuckles on the table, and looked up again. "So we need to find out what's going on in the Forest. I'll get in touch with Hugo."

Scorpius's grey eyes flashed up to Albus's. "You're trusting _Hugo_ with this, but I'm not allowed to tell Rose?"

"I'll only tell Hugo what he needs to know." Albus looked back at him, steadily. "Well, do you have any better ideas?" Listing off his fingers, "Rose can't keep a secret for her life, and if Lily finds out, it would break her to be told she can't use it. And as for your cousin Tobias…"

Scorpius Malfoy pushed up from the table. "I'm sure you have some very good reasons not to trust him."

"Malfoy…"

"I should go." Seizing his cloak off the chair and throwing it over his shoulders, "It's late. Rose will be worried."

After Scorpius had left, Albus Potter stayed where he was for a long time, staring at nothing. He even finished his glass of Blishen's, and only when the serving witch came in to clear it off the table did he finally rise to leave. He folded the map in his pocket, wiped his glasses on the sleeve of his coat, and walked out.

Night deepened outside the White Wyvern. At length, a hooded figure came around the corner of the street, ascended the stairs to the tavern, nodded to the serving witch, and came into the parlour.

Anthea Moribund threw down her hood to reveal her wrinkled features, and with one hand drew down the cloth from the painting hanging on the wall. "Sir Cadogan. What can you tell me?"

The knight, startled by the light, brandished his sword in her direction before lowering it. At his feet lay the twitching form of a wyvern, and behind him rippled the waters of the River Wye.

"It is not meet," he pronounced, "that a knight of the Round Table skulk in cover of darkness, listening to conversations that do not concern him…"

" _Sir Cadogan_."

"There was talk of a map," the knight said reluctantly. "Shadow Men. And…"

"Yes?" Anthea Moribund said, her white eyebrows lifted.

Sir Cadogan looked troubled. "And… the Resurrection Stone." With a flourish, he thrust his sword inward, only stopping when the point reached his chest. "Upon my honour, I will die before I reveal another word!"

"That won't be necessary," Anthea said calmly. "Go to your painting in Hogwarts, and stay there until I call you again."

"But - " The knight's cries of protest were muffled as Anthea Moribund draped the cloth over his painting once more, turning away. A smile spread over her features, and from her pocket she drew out a quill and parchment.

* * *

The Hufflepuff captain's directions had been thorough, but Daisy Abbott still found the climb to Gryffindor Tower longer than she had anticipated. Everything distracted her: the sight of so many paintings and portraits, the staircases that moved on their own, the elaborate tapestries and suits of armour. She longed to explore every unseen corridor, every dark corner, but forced herself to keep heading straight.

She did not see the knight flitting from painting to painting to keep pace with her. He ran up the side of a hill, dashed through a crowded marketplace, galloped across a stately ballroom, and all the while Daisy walked on down the seventh-floor corridor, marvelling at the sights, her face turned this way and that, but never towards him.

When she at last emerged before the portrait of the large lady which her fellow Hufflepuff had described, she found herself at a loss for what to do next. Clasping her hands together, she glanced around at the empty corridor, then cleared her throat.

"You need a password to get in, dear," said the lady in the portrait, kindly.

Daisy bit her lip. "I'm not a Gryffindor, but is there any way I can get a message to someone?"

The Fat Lady looked doubtful. "It's nearly curfew. Whatever it is, I'm sure it can wait."

"But please - I'm worried about my friend…" She broke off as footsteps sounded behind her, and turned to see Hugo Weasley coming up the corridor. He was clad in Quidditch gear, his auburn hair damp. As his eyes landed on her, and widened in surprise, Daisy felt inexpressibly grateful that she had changed out of her soiled robes and into a clean pair of jeans.

"What's the problem?"

"I've been trying to tell her," the Fat Lady said, with a sigh, "that she can't get in - "

"I want to talk to Alice," Daisy broke in. "Can you tell her I'm out here?"

Hugo considered her for a moment, as he pulled off his arm guards, then, "Sure." He turned to the portrait. " _Morgana_." It swung inwards, but he did not step in right away, instead looking back at Daisy and gesturing to his hair. "You've... got something, by the way."

Horrified, Daisy's hands flew up to her head. "Where?" The fingers of her right hand came away dripping green liquid. "Oh _no_."

Hugo Weasley pressed his fist to his mouth, as though he were trying not to laugh. After he had passed out of sight into the portrait hole, Daisy scrabbled at her blonde hair, then wiped her hands on her jeans, pouting.

Alice Longbottom looked annoyed when she emerged from the common room. Her face was flushed, and she had a towel around her head. "What are you doing up here? And why is there green goo in your hair?"

"Long story," Daisy sighed. "I was wondering if you'd have a way to get in touch with Lucinda?"

Alice looked blank. "Who?"

"Lucinda Scamander," Daisy prompted. "The girl you helped on the train today?"

"Oh. No, I don't." Her cousin frowned. "Why?"

"Because… I feel bad doing nothing. Professor Broadmoor said we should show her kindness and care, and..." Daisy held her cousin's gaze with an effort. "She's my friend."

"Friend? Didn't you only just meet her?"

"Well, yeah, but - " Daisy shifted from one foot to the other. "I thought you might have an address, or something."

"She gave me her dad's address. I don't remember it." Alice raised her groomed eyebrows. "Did you really come all the way up to the Gryffindor Tower just to ask me that?" Then something like recognition dawned on her face. "Ah."

"What?"

"I see what this is about." Alice glanced back at the Fat Lady, then lowered her voice. "You're disappointed that you didn't get into Gryffindor, aren't you? That's why you made an excuse to come up here." Stepping closer to her cousin, and tilting her head, "Once is OK, Daisy, and… I know Enid and I are family, but, well, it's important for you to settle into your own House too, you know?"

Daisy Abbott raised her head and looked into blue-grey eyes. They considered her in turn; narrow and knowing, while the rest of her cousin's face beamed kindness and sympathy. Something within her was dropping away, as though she were on a rollercoaster that had taken a sudden downward turn.

"Of course," she heard herself say, at last. Alice smiled, patting her arm.

"Now, you'd better get back before Tomgallon catches you out after curfew." To the Fat Lady, " _Morgana_."

Daisy Abbott was halfway down the corridor, shoulders slumped, when she heard her cousin calling after her. Turning, she saw Alice smiling at her from the portrait hole. The light of the torches cast her face in a warm glow. "Congratulations on getting into Hufflepuff."

* * *

"Are you out of your mind?" Daphne Greengrass said furiously. "I thought I was the one who wanted to leave this place, not you!"

Theodore Nott did not look up from the letter he was reading. "I have no intention of leaving, Daphne."

"Then explain to me," Daphne spluttered, "why Lysander Scamander is lying cold in the morgue of the Alchemical Centre right now!"

"Lysander Scamander," Nott recited, "was struck by a powerful curse yesterday when he was excavating the halls of Caracalla. It took effect so quickly that there was nothing any of us could have done."

"Don't give me that." Daphne reached the window, her glance swept over the hazy, tree-lined streets of Kafr Abdo, one of the wealthiest districts in Alexandria. Then she spun on her heel. For the past hour, since she had arrived at Nott's apartment, she had been pacing the place like a caged tiger. "I know you had something to do with it."

"I did what was necessary to protect my identity."

"And the Muggle researcher last month? Was that necessary, too?" With a bitter laugh, "You might as well just go by Theodore Nott again, and stop disguising yourself with those awful scars, because it seems to me you'd attract less attention that way - "

Nott silenced her with a glance. His pockmarked skin made his face almost unrecognisable, and there was a wrongness about his eyes, too… it was not her Theo. "Don't be ridiculous, Daphne."

Something caught her eye on the coffee table, and she picked it up, shaking her head. "Don't tell me you did this because of _The Quibbler_. They're always publishing crackpot theories."

"Even so," Theodore Nott said, "I could not take the risk."

There was a silence; even the clack of Daphne's shoes on the floor ceased as she reached the door and turned back again. Then, unable to help herself, she burst out, "What is it you're reading that's so fascinating, anyway? So fascinating that you can't even look at me?"

Nott did not stir a muscle. "Moribund has some interesting news."

" _Moribund_?" she repeated, pursing her lips. "I thought she was on the run."

"It appears she has settled in England, for now."

For a moment, Daphne Greengrass said nothing, staring at the straight, uncompromising back of her companion. Then she sighed. "So what are we going to do?" Her voice was quiet, resigned. "Even if they don't suspect, the Aurors here will want to question you about the curse. What will you say? What if they use Veritaserum?"

Theodore Nott laughed: the sound was sharp and startling. "Are you forgetting my field of study, Daphne? Don't you think I have developed means of resisting such concoctions?"

"Your potions can't solve everything." Daphne saw Theodore's shoulders stiffen a fraction. "Theo, I _really_ think we should - " She broke off as the owl on the windowsill gave a hoot. Listless and dull-eyed from the heat, it was the first sound he had made since he had flown in the window. Tilting her head, she frowned and pointed. "Did Moribund send you something with that letter? I didn't notice before."

Nott turned again, and strode to the windowsill. Gingerly, he detached the package from the owl's leg, and opened it. Something fell into his palm: Daphne caught a gleam of silver in the sun. "What's that?"

In a rapid movement, she saw Theodore tuck the object in his pocket, then reach for the letter again, quickly giving it a scan before turning to face her fully. She had never seen him so pale. "Can you be ready to leave in a half-hour?"

"What are you talking about?" Daphne took a step towards him, concerned now. "Theo..."

"We'll need to be discreet," he continued, casting a glance around the cramped apartment: at the empty shelves, the small, squeaky desk, and the ragged Oriental carpet. "The EMP will be monitoring the Floo Network and the Portkeys. So perhaps we should go by boat…"

"Go? Go where?" She had come right up to him now, but still he did not look at her as he said,

"Home."

"Home?" she repeated. When he did not respond, she reached for his arm. "Theo, look at me. We can't just - "

" _Daphne Greengrass_." Theodore Nott shook her off him with such force that she stumbled halfway across the room. "Would it be too much to ask you to have a little faith?"

Wide-eyed, she stared at him. "I - "

"We are going home." Theodore Nott looked past Daphne Greengrass, to the blue sky visible through the windows, above the dusty city. "To Hogwarts. Where a treasure greater than any alchemist's gold awaits us."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hope you enjoyed! As always, you can visit my tumblr if you have any questions, link on my author profile. There are also a few fancasts on there - I plan to do a full one soon for both stories.

EMP = Egyptian Magical Parliament, if any of you were wondering. I was trying to find a way to work it into the text without it sounding clunky, but... yeah. If you're ever confused about any terms or characters, anyway, let me know, because even though there's a glossary at the start of the story, these things should still be clear and easy to follow.

 **Music:** "Chaos is a Ladder" - Ramin Djawadi, Game of Thrones

"Going to Work" - Alexandre Desplat, The Shape of Water

"The Hidden Valley" - Howard Shore, The Hobbit

"Severus and Lily" - Alexandre Desplat, Harry Potter


	6. The Talent of Mr Ripley

**A/N:** Hey, all! How's life?

I've been busy, busy, busy this past month, but as they say, busy's good! Still really enjoying writing this in my spare time, and I want to thank you guys for the reviews and favourites and follows! Makes my day xxx

 **Disclaimer:** Copyright J.K. Rowling

* * *

 **Previously:**

 _Squib Daisy Abbott made a deal with mysterious witch Moribund to obtain magic; she was accepted into Hogwarts, sorted into Hufflepuff at O.W.L. level, but must be mentored to catch up with other students._

 _Lysander Scamander was killed by Theodore Nott, who was posing as a Healer named George Ripley in Alexandria. His sister Lucinda was starting at Hogwarts at the same time as Daisy._

 _Hugo signed up for the mentoring programme when the Head Boy reminded him that his detentions from last year carried over._

 _Albus and Scorpius discovered a map that they think might lead to the Resurrection Stone._

 **And in "Love and Glory":**

 _Scorpius Malfoy traded his father's old Hand of Glory with Theodore Nott back when the latter was Potions Master in Hogwarts._

 _Blaise Zabini, notorious Death Eater, was killed during the failed coup of the Truthseekers by Penny Alderton, who was avenging his murder of her father. Her brother Geoffrey was a double agent for the Aurors against the Truthseekers, and ended up working as the aide to the Minister for Magic, Hermione Weasley._

* * *

 **Chapter 4: The Talent of Mr Ripley**

Mud spattered in all directions as Hugo Weasley brought his broomstick down to land.

"All right, everyone, that's enough for this morning."

"You think?" Lily Potter said dryly. She appeared to be the only other member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team capable of speech, the rest of them being in various states of exhaustion: leaning on their broomsticks, doubled over or flat on their backs on the grass. They had been flying laps around the pitch since those dark, evil hours before dawn, and in that time the sun had climbed into sight in the sky.

"Oh, come on, I went easy on you lot today!" Hugo said cheerfully. He was met with a series of dissenting groans and grunts. The only people who appeared to share his enthusiasm were those observers who had trickled down from the castle with the growing light of day, who showed their solidarity now in scattered applause. Among them was Alice Longbottom, waving her gold and crimson scarf in his direction, Tracy Towers, the match commentator, and some other Hufflepuff girls whose names he did not know. Grinning, Hugo gave them a mock salute in return.

"You're quiet," he observed to his cousin on their way back across the grounds. They had changed into their school robes, and she walked beside him with her head down, red hair striking her cheek with each step. Before them rose the castle, its stony heights wrapped in cloud.

"Not everyone has your energy," Lily replied, with a glance back at the other team members lagging behind. After a beat, "Or your fanclub."

"Oh, come on." Hugo laughed. "They came to see the whole team."

"Well, at least there's one difference." Lily crossed her arms over her middle as though she were cold, and at his confused look, elaborated, "Between you and James. _He_ never even pretended to be humble."

She walked on, picking up her pace, and Hugo watched her retreating figure. He didn't realise that he had stopped until Stephen McCubbin caught up with him, clapping him on the back. "All right, captain?"

"Sure," Hugo said after a moment, pushing his auburn hair off his sweaty brow. "Despite the fact that you nearly broke my nose with that Bludger."

"Quidditch is a dangerous sport, Weasley. Did no one ever tell you that?"

The smell of cooking sausages greeted them as they stepped over the threshold of the castle into the Entrance Hall; Hugo sniffed the air in rapture. The school caretaker Maven Tomgallon was polishing the white phoenix monument, even though it was already gleaming; he paused his work as Lily passed, a little way ahead of the two boys, and followed her with his eyes.

"How much do you bet that Peeping Tom times his daily scrubbing to get a good gawk at your cousin?" McCubbin muttered as they entered the crowded Great Hall, and Hugo shuddered. His friend was still laughing when they ran right into Professor Longbottom on his way out. Their Head of House smiled broadly, as though sharing in the joke, and even went so far as to clasp Hugo on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Hugo. I know how busy you are." Over his shoulder after they had passed, "Good luck!"

Baffled, Hugo turned in place to watch the Herbology professor stride out of the hall. "What do you think he was thanking me for?"

His friend shrugged, nudging him out of the way as a couple of second year boys sprinted past, one chasing the other. "You're the one who knows him, mate."

"Thank you for being the best Quidditch captain this school has ever known, maybe?" Hugo guessed as they settled into their seats at the Gryffindor table. Across the Hall, he saw that the Head Boy Zane Shacklebolt had cornered the boisterous second years, and was giving them a stern talking-to.

"Thank you for not filing a restraining order against my daughter?" McCubbin suggested, and then with a flurry of wings, the Weasley's family owl swooped down and dropped a roll of parchment into Hugo's cereal bowl. "That's a probably a love-letter from her."

Rolling his eyes, Hugo fished the soggy parchment out of the milk. "Duke's aim is getting worse." He opened it, reading the faded writing, and frowned. "It's my cousin. He wants to Floo me tonight."

"Albus?" McCubbin said. "Isn't he busy working?"

"Weird, right?" Hugo shrugged. "Must be important." He scribbled a hasty reply, fastened it to Duke's leg, and sternly told the owl not to drop it in the Black Lake.

"Weasley, does today suit you to start?" A new voice had broken in on their conversation; both boys turned their heads up to see Shacklebolt standing behind them. "I know it's early, but I was looking at the training schedule you sent me, and your only free gaps seem to be Friday afternoon and Monday evening…"

"Shack," Hugo interrupted. "What are you on about?"

The Head Boy broke off, looking mildly irritated. "Haven't you checked the noticeboard?"

"I was training the team all morning."

"Well, the mentor pairings have been posted. Here." Shacklebolt handed him down a small folder, then hurried away.

Voices rose and fell around them, laughter broke out in various places, and Hugo Weasley slowly shook his head as he opened the folder, his eyes scanning the list of names written on the parchment inside to see with which one his had been paired. "No. Merlin, no."

Stephen McCubbin was sniggering into his pumpkin juice. "You got little Longbottom, didn't you?"

"Abbott," Hugo corrected wearily, then dropped his head into his hands, upending the contents of his cereal bowl in the process. "Daisy Bloody Abbott."

* * *

Daisy Bloody Abbott was blissfully unaware of the calamity that had just occurred at the Gryffindor table; indeed, the very moment that Hugo Weasley read her name with such dread, she was actually still asleep, the blankets on her four-poster bed twisted into a hump around her form, her blonde hair plastered to her face.

It was the sunshine that finally woke her, peering in the round little windows of the Hufflepuff dormitory like a friendly neighbour. Daisy rose from bed and stretched luxuriously, the sleeves of her pink pyjamas bunching up at her elbows. No one else was about, for her Housemates had gone down to the Quidditch pitch to watch the Gryffindor team's first training session of the year. She had had every intention of joining them in witnessing this momentous event, particularly since it involved Hugo Weasley, yet somehow, when she had heard them bustling about at the crack of dawn, her sleepy brain had convinced her that her presence there was not necessary.

It had been a tiring week, after all: a week of strange beginnings, of sound trouncings and hard knocks, throughout which she had maintained one good, solid friend who had not yet let her down: her four-poster bed. Its soft pillows had taken in her tears every night without complaint, and propelled her to each morning with the reminder that today was fresh and new, with no mistakes in it.

So what matter if she had missed the chance to see Hugo Weasley in action as a captain? There would be more training sessions, and the extra few hours in bed had done her good, and her alarm had not even gone off yet...

Daisy Abbott froze. Her alarm, on her mobile phone which had lost its operating power as soon as it had passed into the grounds of Hogwarts.

She dashed around the dormitory in a frenzy, attempting to throw her quills and books into her dragonhide satchel while at the same wrestling on her school robes, with the result that the books ended up covered in ink and the robes got caught around her neck. The Hufflepuff common room was deserted when she sprinted through, and she cursed the witch Moribund for taking her father's watch from her. Only the distant chime of the clock tower gave her an idea of the time as she spun around the corner of the Quad, and it was not encouraging.

"Late to class?" cackled a voice from somewhere above her, but when Daisy looked around her, she could see no one, just the dusty, creaky wooden seats and wide windows of the covered walkway. Perhaps she was going mad. Perhaps it was her conscience.

Another cackle, and then someone barrelled right into her, shouting, " _Duck_!" She struck the wall just as there was a splattering sound from nearby. A smell like rotten eggs rose to meet her, and Daisy stared at the spreading pool of black liquid on the floor where she had just been before looking at her rescuer: a dark-skinned boy with solemn eyes and a Slytherin tie, who stared back at her.

"You have to learn to duck," he said matter-of-factly. "Peeves is everywhere."

"Peeves?" Daisy repeated, and as if on cue, a little man with wicked eyes and a bell-covered hat materialised in the air before them. The boy shoved her out of the way of another explosion, followed by uproarious laughter on the part of the thrower.

"Peeves," the boy said, his eyes not leaving the little man as he careened around the walkway. "The poltergeist. He never gets bored of throwing things. Today it's Doxy Eggs, yesterday it was Stink Pellets." He turned to look at Daisy from where they were crouched. "Where are you headed?"

"Classroom 3C," she said, her voice muffled through her hands, which were now covering the lower part of her face to protect from the foul smell. "And I'm already _so_ late."

"I know a shortcut. Come on."

Half-crouching, half-running, they made it to the end of the walkway without being struck. A stray missile followed them out into the corridor, but Daisy stumbled out of its way.

"Well done," the boy said, a mischievous glint entering his eyes for the first time. "I'm impressed." Holding up the end of a tapestry to let her through, "So how has your first week been?"

"Could be better," Daisy said, with a laugh that had an edge to it, as they clattered up a narrow spiral staircase. "As you can see."

"Starting out here is always tough." Her companion appeared to consider for a moment, then pointed the way down a corridor lined with suits of armour. "As long as you've managed to avoid detention so far, you're doing well."

"Did you get a lot of detentions in first year?" Daisy asked, curious despite herself, while pressing on her mind was the knowledge that with every minute that ticked by, she was in more and more trouble.

"I still do," the boy said with emphasis. "My aunt gives me a hard time over it; now that I'm in third year, she thinks I should be more serious about stuff."

"Third year? I had you pegged as older."

"And you're one of those late-bloomers, right? The Hat took _ages_ with you." The boy led her up another set of steps. "Pity you weren't Sorted into Slytherin."

Daisy, who was running a hand through her hastily-braided hair, twisted to look at him. "What's your name?"

"We're here." Ignoring her question, he came to a halt outside a large, iron-studded door and waved a hand. "3C."

"Tha-thank you," she said, startled, and the boy's face flashed into a smile before he darted away.

Swallowing hard, Daisy turned the handle of the door. With a deafening creak, it opened, and twenty pairs of eyes swivelled around to regard her from their seats.

"Miss Abbott." Professor Cattermole spoke crisply, her voice echoing across the cavernous Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. "You're late."

"Yes, I - I'm sorry, professor," Daisy said, wincing as the door slammed shut behind her. At one of the desks towards the back of the classroom, she met the gazes of her dormitory mates Tracy Towers and Meena Kapoor, who looked a little sorry for her. "I got my timetables mixed up."

The Defence professor's face did not change. Being so young, Daisy had not expected that she would be so severe; however, her clear eyes remained cold and unsympathetic as they considered the late arrival. "I'm sure I needn't remind you, Miss Abbott, that you have four years' learning to catch up on. Every minute of class counts twice as much for you then for anyone else."

"I'm sorry," Daisy said again, while her heart sank. "It won't happen again."

"Take a seat." Professor Cattermole turned back to the blackboard with a swish of robes. "And ten points from Hufflepuff."

* * *

"This is ridiculous."

"Rose, try to see things from my point of view." Hermione Weasley passed a hand over her face. Outside the office of the Minister for Magic, footsteps paced back and forth, voices called out to one another. Every few seconds, a purple memo whooshed in under the door and planted itself in the tray on the desk. Thus far, Hermione had ignored them, but a pile had begun to form, a few of the memos even bursting open and announcing their contents in garbled little voices. They spoke of statements to be made, press conferences and functions to be attended, meetings to be chaired… It was enough to make Rose's head spin; how her mother kept track of all these things was beyond her.

"Lysander Scamander was murdered in cold blood just a week ago," her mother went on, with the slightest tremor to her voice, "And you work in the same place his brother. You have to understand, Rosie, how worried it makes me to think of you going there alone every day, where anything might happen…"

"It's Gringotts, Mum," Rose said pointedly. "One of the safest places in the wizarding world." After a pause, "Or are you saying you don't have the utmost faith in your bank's security?"

"Ungrateful child," scolded the ugly wizard in the portrait hanging to their left. "Don't waste your time on her, Minister - remember, you're meant to be sitting with the Wizengamot in a few minutes…"

Hermione held up a hand, without breaking eye contact with her daughter. "Thank you, Gamp. I'm well aware of the confines of my schedule. Now, Rose, be reasonable. Things aren't what they used to be. I'm Minister now, and we have a lot of enemies out there. I have faith in the security of Gringotts, of course I do. But _nothing is certain_."

"What about Hugo?" Rose asked, and heard Gamp sigh in his portrait. She knew that her words were making her sound exactly as he had described her - an ungrateful child - but for some reason, she could not stop. "You're not assigning him a guard."

"Hogwarts is already heavily guarded." Hermione looked down, for the first time. "Again, of course we can't be certain. But it's different with you, Rosie."

"Why?"

Her mother took a deep breath through her nose, and looked pained. "Because I don't know what kinds of crowds you might be mixing with out there."

Abruptly, Rose Weasley pushed off from the desk, rising to her feet. "I should go."

"Rosie." Hermione stood from her desk, a pleading look on her face. "I don't mean to say anything against Scorpius - but some of the people he knows…"

"My boyfriend doesn't hang around with Death Eaters, if that's what you mean! You don't know anything about what he - "

The door of the office opened, in the midst of Rose's furious retort, to admit a puffy-faced wizard with a blond hairpiece, whom she recognised as the Advisor William Corley. "Minister Weasley, I wished to have a - oh, my apologies for interrupting…" He began to back out again, still talking. "Just a word on the Hogwarts inquiry, when you have time - "

"I have a window now, Advisor Corley, if you follow me down to Level 10." Hermione seized a set of plum-coloured Wizengamot robes from a hook on the wall, folded them over her arm, and then turned to Rose, her voice firm. "I don't have time to argue with you anymore. Just trust me on this. Geoffrey's waiting outside the visitor's entrance for you - he'll keep his distance, but please say you'll be civil at least…"

"Geoffrey Alderton?" Rose repeated, following her mother out into the plush-carpeted hall, where Corley was practically hopping from one foot to the other in his impatience. "You're assigning me your own guard? What are you going to do?"

"Harry's sending me someone else," Hermione said over her shoulder, before raising a hand in goodbye as she strode away with Corley hurrying by her side; Rose stood for a moment, her mouth hanging open, and then, aware that she was attracting more than a few stares from the officials crowding the hall, she sighed and went on her way.

True to her mother's word, Geoffrey Alderton was indeed waiting outside the visitor's entrance; as Rose stepped out of the telephone box in Whitehall, she walked right past the fair-haired wizard without sparing him a glance. He was clad discreetly by Auror standards, but looked somewhat thuggish in a dark leather jacket and chinos. As she drew up to the Horse Guards Parade, she heard him fall into step behind her.

"You're going to follow me all the way to work, are you?" she asked, without turning. There was no reply; fixing her gaze on the London Eye ferris wheel, rolling in the distance, Rose had an idea, and stepping off the path, she lurched forward just as a bright red bus blared past.

In a flash, Geoffrey Alderton was at her side, his hand on her arm, tugging her back to the pavement. He looked furious. "What in Merlin are you doing?"

"Well done, you passed," Rose said blithely, smiling up into his face. "Now you can go home."

"Your mother assigned me to you." His voice, calm once more, followed her as she started walking again. "If you have a problem, you should take it up with her, but I intend on doing my job."

Rose Weasley sighed, as the Women of World War II monument came into view a little way ahead of them. "Then it's going to be a long day."

* * *

"Miss Abbott - to the left - _no_ , counter-clockwise - no - _Miss Abbott_."

Silence fell over the Charms classroom as Professor Harris rose from behind her desk, spluttering and covered in feathers. Hands trembling, Daisy slowly lowered her wand. All around her, students were clutching cushions they had Summoned from across the classroom. Naturally, _her_ cushion had made a beeline for the professor when she attempted to do the same, and then promptly exploded.

"I'm sorry," she said now, but Professor Harris waved a hand, attempting a smile that looked more like a grimace.

"Class dismissed! Now, for next week - " She raised her voice over the scrape of chairs and the rustling of bags, " - I want you all to revise the Levitating Charm! And, of course…" with a smile, "Enjoy your weekend!"

As the students piled out of the classroom, talking over each other in a clamour of voices, Professor Harris vanished the drifting feathers from the cushions and smiled at Daisy, to the latter's surprise. "How has your first week been, dear?"

Daisy opened her mouth to give a non-committal answer, then, after a moment, sighed. "Not great." She fastened the strap of her dragonhide satchel, wiped her ink-stained hands on her robes, and then said to her shoes, "I've made a lot of mistakes."

"Don't worry about that." Professor Harris's plump, aged face was understanding. "If we didn't make mistakes, none of us would be here, would we?" Then she cast her eyes upwards, fixing on a point somewhere above Daisy. "I think someone's waiting for you."

Daisy Abbott turned in place and saw, leaning on the gallery that overlooked the classroom, Hugo Weasley. He was clad in his shirt sleeves, with his red and gold tie loosened. As their eyes met, he straightened, jerked his head towards the door behind him, and walked out.

A blush overspreading her features, Daisy stayed where she was at the sound of the closing door. Did he want her to follow him? Was he really waiting for _her_? A voice in her head - that greatly resembled her cousin Alice's - strongly denied that possibility. She looked to Professor Harris again, as though for guidance, but the latter was now Summoning the cushions back to the front of the classroom, and simply said, "Good luck, dear."

Slow on her feet, Daisy made her way to the back of the classroom, up the rickety stairs to the gallery and out the same door through which Hugo Weasley had just exited.

"What took you so long?" His abrupt voice was the first thing she registered when she stepped out into the corridor; then, as her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw him walking a little way ahead of her. Over his shoulder, "Come on, I don't have all day."

Adjusting her satchel and surreptitiously smoothing her hair, Daisy hurried to catch up with him. "What's - "

"Two sessions a week: that's all I can manage," Hugo Weasley carried on briskly. "I told Shacklebolt. With the team, and patrols, and my own study…" He heaved a sigh. "It's all I can do."

Either the fatigues of the day had rendered her slow and stupid, or she simply was so: the second was becoming more and more likely. "Sessions? What - "

"One on Friday afternoon - that's today," Hugo added, unhelpfully, "And one on Monday evening." They turned a corner in the corridor, and it was suddenly bright again, as to their left stretched a window that looked out onto the purpling mountains. Ordinarily, Daisy would have stopped to stare, but it was difficult enough matching her companion's pace as it was. A door opened ahead of them at a flick of Hugo's wand, and, finally drawing level with him, she reached for his arm.

Hugo Weasley turned, his eyes landing not on her but on her hand. Hastily, she withdrew it, but kept looking at him. "What's going on? What are you talking about?"

For the first time, the Gryffindor looked a little thrown. "Didn't the Head Boy talk to you this morning?"

Daisy thought back, and bit her lip. "I missed breakfast - I was late for class…"

"Of course you were." With another sigh, he started walking again. "Well, I've been assigned your mentor for this term."

"Oh."

Daisy didn't know that so much could be communicated in one syllable, but clearly it could, as Hugo Weasley gave a dry laugh. "Yeah, exactly."

They had stopped outside a set of double doors; Hugo pushed through them and Daisy followed at his heels, into what she assumed must be the library. The vaulted ceilings, the towering shelves of books, rolling ladders and lamplit desks certainly suggested it to be so. She did not even notice that she had stopped in her tracks to stare until she heard the _Oi_ of an indignant student behind her. Moving aside so that she was no longer blocking the way in, she began to remove her coat, and the librarian, a skinny blond wizard with oversized glasses, swivelled his head around at the rustle of fabric. "Ssssh!"

"That's Mr Shirley," Hugo said in a low voice. He had doubled back to join her. "If you think he's bad, try having Madam Pince for five years."

Daisy made a placating gesture towards the librarian, who was still glaring at her, and then followed Hugo down the various aisles, her coat half-on, half-off. She could hear the low buzz of conversation around her, though most students at the desks they passed had their heads bent over their work. It seemed to her that they were walking for quite some time before her guide finally stopped, turned right into a section labelled _Charms_ , and led the way to an alcove at the far side, which contained a small, round table and a gently glowing lamp.

As Hugo dropped his bag on one of the empty chairs, Daisy said haltingly, with a glance back at the section through which they had just passed, "Back in the classroom… did you see - "

"Your Summoning spell? Yes." She felt her heart sink, then her mentor gave another laugh. "Poor Harris."

They sat down side by side at the round table. "So Charms is our first priority, then," Hugo was saying as he drew out a quill and ink pot. "You've got your book?"

Daisy Abbott, finding herself a little distracted by the fact that their elbows were actually touching, took a moment to reply. The sensible part of her mind chided her for such silliness; then again, being in close proximity to boys her age was not something she was used to, after the all-female environment of Ashmole Academy.

"Your book?" Hugo repeated, and she hastily reached into her satchel to draw out the heavy purple volume, plopping it on the table. "Right, I think it's best if we start by looking at the wand movements, then maybe we can practise on something small…" Her mentor trailed off as he opened the book to reveal a dark blue ink stain that had seeped through all of the pages.

Daisy put a hand to her forehead. "My quills… they must have burst in my bag."

Hugo Weasley looked sidelong at her, and his face twitched, as though he were trying not to laugh. A moment later, it was severe again, and Daisy wondered if she had imagined it. "It's OK. We can use my old one." He rummaged through his bag, drew out a battered copy of the _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5_ , and passed it to her. "Now, if we go to page 53…"

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron burst with noise and colour, and Rose Weasley checked the round clock by the Firewhiskey display for the fifth time.

"We've been waiting twenty minutes now," said Geoffrey Alderton, from where he was sitting a few paces away from her at the bar. "Maybe he forgot?"

Rose resisted the urge to growl at the Auror, and asked instead, sweetly, "How's Penny?" The allusion to his sister in Azkaban had not failed the previous half-dozen times she had used it that day to shut him up, and it did not fail now.

Scorpius would not have forgotten about their lunch appointment, anyway, she assured herself; even if he had been distracted of late. This project of his with Albus (on which he still had not brought her up to speed) was taking up more and more of his time these days. He would return exhausted from an evening shift at Wright's Antiques, throw on a cloak and go straight out again to meet her cousin.

"You do realise that you're not the only one to throw my sister's name at me?" Geoffrey said calmly, and she turned to him in surprise. "I'm used to it. People think I must be ashamed of her, for what she did."

" _I_ don't," Rose said, shaking her head. "Zabini deserved what he got."

"As a wizard, I agree with you. As an Auror…" Geoffrey shifted on his stool, "I'm forced to say that the duty falls on us to protect the population. If people take the law into their hands like Penny did, they have to face consequences. Even in self-defence."

Rose regarded him thoughtfully. She had shared a dormitory with Penny back in school, and she had never seen a pair of siblings more alike. They could almost have passed for twins: the same fair, curling hair, the same elfin features and pasty skin. The purple shadows under Geoffrey's eyes told of many lost nights; indeed, he looked as though the past couple of years had aged him more than they should have.

"Well," she said at last, leaning away as a group of wizards squeezed past her to the bar, "I think your duty is done for the day."

Geoffrey did not protest, as she had been expecting; rather, he raised a hand to his ear, looked mildly confused, and then pushed off his stool and past her, out through the Diagon Alley exit. Rose blinked; getting rid of him had been rather easier than she had expected.

But some strange instinct made her rise from her seat, too, and follow in the direction he had gone. She stepped out into the courtyard as quietly as she could, shutting the door behind her. The Auror had his back to her, and was talking to someone she could not see; then, as he turned his head slightly, she caught sight of a glint of steel and realised that he was wearing an earpiece.

"... slow down, slow down," he was saying. "They searched this man's office - Ripley, yes? Ripley. And what did they find?"

Silence. Rose strained her ears and heard the faintest sound of a voice on the other end.

"The Hand of Glory," Geoffrey Alderton said flatly. "What's that?" A pause, then, "Draco Malfoy? You're sure? It's the only one left?"

Rose Weasley felt a chill shiver down her spine. She drew breath sharply, as an image rushed to her mind: of herself in a dark passageway, holding a wand to Scorpius's head and demanding to know why he had traded the priceless Hand of Glory for a mere Memory Potion.

And his answer: _My father gets very bad nightmares._

Alderton was now nodding his head. "OK, OK. Yeah, I'll look into it. I have to go now. OK." He turned, and came to a dead halt as he saw Rose standing on the threshold of the tavern.

"I didn't know you were involved in the investigation in Alexandria," she said levelly, after they had both been silent for a moment.

"You shouldn't listen in on conversations that don't concern you."

"Aren't you supposed to be guarding my side at all times?" Rose said musingly. "What would my mum say if I told her you stepped away to take a call on an unrelated matter?"

"She would understand that I was helping out a colleague." The Auror's face remained impassive as the door of the tavern opened and a wizard carrying a shopping bag emerged, giving them a strange look before tapping the bricks on the wall in sequence. As they parted to reveal the entrance to Diagon Alley, Geoffrey added, "Hadn't you better be getting back to work?"

Rose ignored him. "So they found a Hand of Glory in the office of George Ripley? The Healer who pronounced Lysander Scamander dead?"

"Keep your voice down," Geoffrey snapped, stepping forward. "This is confidential information."

With a lazy motion, she cast a Muffling Charm around them; the air rippled for a moment, then became still once more. "What happened to Ripley? I heard he ran before the authorities could question him. Is that true?"

"If you think I'm going to discuss the details of an ongoing investigation with you, then you're mistaken." Geoffrey turned away with a snap of his jacket. "Come on, let's get you back to Gringotts."

But Rose Weasley found she was not capable of moving. All she could see before her were memories of sixth year, flooding her brain: flashes of light, runes painted on the walls of the school, blood-soaked floors…

"What if I told you," she said in a low voice, "that the most recent owner of this Hand of Glory was Theodore Nott?"

Geoffrey Alderton stopped in his tracks, and slowly turned to look at her. "I'd say that changes things quite a bit."

* * *

Wright and Son, at the corner of Diagon Alley, was predictably quiet for a Friday evening, and Scorpius Malfoy was finding it difficult to concentrate. Being only rostered for an hour more, it was difficult not to let his mind jump ahead to seeing Rose back at home. He'd been so busy this past while, they had barely been able to spend any time together. But tonight, he looked forward to having a late dinner, sharing a bottle of wine between them as they settled down for the night, the sound of whatever mushy music was on _Witching Hour_ drifting through the house...

The shop bell brought him back to his senses, and Scorpius looked up from the moonstone ring he was repairing to see the object of his thoughts entering the shop. She was far more properly clad than in his imagination, of course, but all the same, he found his attention instantly fixed on her long rope of red hair, coiled around one side of her face, the high colour in her cheeks and the patch of skin visible above her hastily-buttoned shirt -

"Shit," he said aloud, as she came up to the display. "I forgot about lunch. I'm sorry."

"That's not important now," Rose said breathlessly as she came to a halt at the other end of the display, drawing out a book from the shopping bag she was carrying. "This is about George Ripley. So, I was reading - "

The backroom door opened and the shop's white-haired, distinguished proprietor emerged, issuing instructions in medias res, even though he had been so quiet for the past hour that Scorpius thought he must have gone home. "... that music box must be returned to the Pritchards on Monday, and remember we're not charging them for delivery." Lawrence Wright stopped short as he saw who stood at the other side of the counter, his white eyebrows rising delicately. "Can I help you?"

"This is my girlfriend, Rose," Scorpius jumped in. With a glance at her, "You said this was important?"

"It is," she said quickly, her eyes moving between him and the shop owner. "Can I borrow him for a moment?"

A little worried now, Scorpius followed Rose out of the shop. They stood at the junction between Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, under the shadow of the old, crumbling arch, dead leaves skittering across the cobbles around them. He listened uncomprehendingly as she described her new situation with Geoffrey Alderton, and the call he had received.

"I thought at first, because of the Hand of Glory," Rose concluded, "that this George Ripley must be an associate of Nott's, since he had this Hand of Glory that you gave him back in sixth year - Nott, that is. Because wasn't that the last one in existence or something?" Without waiting for his response, " - anyway, I had to look him up, so I went to Flourish and Blotts and I found _this_." She held up the new book, and Scorpius, still silent, scanned the title.

" _The Life and Work of George Ripley_ ," Rose burst out. "George Ripley was an Alchemist, back in the 1200s! Remember, Nott was always talking about him in class?"

"Your memory's better than mine." Scorpius cast a glance back at the shop. There was the twitch of a curtain at the window over the door, as though Wright had just moved away from it. "Rose, couldn't this have waited till after work?"

She was staring at him. "Don't you see? This "George Ripley", who's been working in the Alchemical Centre, who disappeared after Lysander Scamander's death… he's Nott! He must be."

Scorpius shook his head. "Nott's no fool. He's better at concealing his tracks than that." Reaching up, he pinched the bridge of his nose, and said after a moment, "What I don't understand is why Geoffrey Alderton told you all this. And why is your mother making him trail you?"

"It's a security thing, it doesn't matter." Rose trailed off, pressing forward to take his hand in hers. "Scorpius, what if this man is Nott? What if he's been hiding in Alexandria, biding his time? What if he has a plan?"

Scorpius looked down at their joined hands, then gave hers an answering squeeze. "Even if it is, he won't be returning to England any time soon. There are censors all around the coast, marked with his magical signature. He'd be carted off to Azkaban the second he stepped inside them."

Rose was nodding; she knew all of this, of course. Her uncle was the head of the Auror Office, after all. But her eyes were still afraid as they looked up into his, seeking comfort he could not give. Gently, Scorpius let go of her hand. "I should get back. We'll talk about this later."

"Later," she echoed, and then gave an impulsive surge forward. It was just a quick kiss, but Scorpius closed his eyes and breathed in her scent, his hands grazing her waist. She stepped back all too soon, and he gave her a crooked smile.

"Don't tempt me."

She looked at him, uncertain. "I'll see you back at the house."

Scorpius blew out his breath as he re-entered the shop, to the sound of tappings and hammerings from the backroom. He took his place behind the counter again, and had resumed work on the moonstone ring when Wright came out again, wearing a metal apron.

"Rose Weasley," the old wizard said abruptly. "That was her, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir," Scorpius said hastily. "I'm sorry, it won't happen ag - "

"Your mother told me about her." Wright stepped out from behind the counter, walked the length of the shop floor, and stopped by the door, his hands folded behind his back. "We don't get many customers here. But those who _do_ come into our shop, Malfoy, come because we provide discreet service."

"What do you mean by that, sir?" Scorpius could not keep the edge out of his voice, but the proprietor appeared unperturbed.

"Well, if we have witches bursting in off the street - witches who are not _our sort_ …" Wright turned, and smoothed his waistcoat over his protruding stomach. His gaze flickered to the old election poster of Corley hanging behind the counter, then back to Scorpius. "You see my point."

"I see," Scorpius Malfoy said quietly.

"Good." The proprietor strode back to the counter. "I won't interfere in your personal life, Malfoy, but I will ask that you do not let it affect your work here." A pause, "And, if you were to take my advice, you would stay well away from the Weasleys."

* * *

After the day he had passed, there was nothing Hugo Weasley would have liked better than to return to his dormitory, flop down on his bed and go straight to sleep. His eyes were scratchy from squinting at textbooks for what felt like hours, his muscles aching from that morning's training, and he felt so on edge after mentoring Daisy Abbott that he was inclined to shout at every hapless first year who stumbled across his path.

However, the note he had received that morning from his cousin forbade him from retiring for the night just yet, and so instead Hugo sat on an armchair in the common room as the crowd of students thinned around him, watching the dying embers of the fire and growing more irritable by the minute.

At precisely eleven p.m., just as the note had indicated, a black head rose from the flames, sneezed some ash, and peered out through fogged-up spectacles. "Hugo?"

"Albus." Hugo rose from his armchair, crossed to the fireplace and knelt on the hearth. "I got your note. What's going on? Where are you?"

"I'm at home, in Grimmauld Place." Albus Potter glanced behind him, at the bricks that lined the chimney, and then added, "I can't stay for long. Mum and Dad will be back soon." His eyes returned to Hugo, suddenly alert. "Have you cast a Muffling Charm?"

"I'm not a complete idiot," Hugo said shortly. "I figured this must be secret, or you would have written."

"It is secret. And Hugo, this is really important…" Albus glanced behind him again, then back at his cousin. "You can't tell anyone what I've told you." Taking a deep breath, "We think the Resurrection Stone might still be hidden in the Forbidden Forest."

Hugo blinked, tilted his head. Was he so tired that his mind was playing tricks on him, or had he really just heard what he thought he'd heard? "What?"

"Malfoy found a map - he thinks…"

"Malfoy," Hugo said, shaking his head. "Of course. Lily thought you might be cooking something up together."

"Lily?" Albus repeated, then, frowning, "Hugo, you can't mention this to her. Or to anyone. Nothing's for sure yet."

"Then why are you telling me?" Attempting to keep his voice level, though the all of the day's accumulated exhaustion and frustration was threatening to bubble to the surface, Hugo met his cousin's green-eyed gaze through the flames. "What do you want me to do about it?"

Albus gave a start, as though he had heard something, and when he spoke next, his words were all in a rush. "They're back. Listen to me, Hugo, I just need you to go to Firenze, ask him if he knows anything about what's been going on in the Forest. The centaurs are being driven out of their territory by someone… something… and it might have to do with the Stone." With another glance behind him, "I have to go."

"Albus, wait - " Hugo put out a hand, but in another instant, his cousin's head had vanished from the flames, and he let it drop again. The common room was silent around him, the faint crackle of embers filling his ears as he knelt on the carpet.

The Resurrection Stone. Albus was looking for the Resurrection Stone.

Why was it that he could suddenly hear the death-rattle of carriage wheels? And why was sunlight searing through his head when the windows of the common room showed only darkness?

Hugo Weasley pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and tried not to think - think - but the image came anyway: the rolling green lawn, and on it a lifeless body…

 _James_.

* * *

Rose Weasley could not sleep.

Back in Holyhead, the wash of the waves outside her window had always been a lullaby of sorts. When she thought of the wind whistling through the empty rooms and galleries of their old house now, abandoned as it was, it made her a little sad. Would they ever be returning there?

Not her, she reminded herself sternly. She had made her decision. And looking across at Scorpius's face now, bathed in the silver glow of the stars from the ceiling above, she did not regret it. A smile on her lips, she reached out and traced his smooth cheek, her fingers curving into his skin.

She had intended to continue their earlier conversation when he returned home from work, but things hadn't worked out that way. Scorpius had stepped in the front door, dropped his cloak on the floor and taken her in his arms. He had been eager tonight, more so than usual; she had felt something almost frenzied in his movements as he kissed her, his hands working fast to remove whatever she had on. They had barely made it as far as the bedroom - not that she was complaining, of course. Perhaps _she_ had needed it tonight, too, even if it had only made her more awake. Rose pushed a hand through Scorpius's hair, smoothed it and then paused, and sighed.

It was no good. She was never going to get to sleep until she had checked.

So Rose Weasley crept out of bed, threw on a sweatshirt and descended the stairs of the dark, silent townhouse. In the hallway she tripped over Scorpius's cloak. The material made a sound like soft whispering as she gathered it up, and it made her think of all the secrets that must have been kept in this house; all of the nights Draco Malfoy would have crept through its creaking confines as she was now doing.

For even if her theory about Ripley being an alias of Nott's had no basis in reality, as Scorpius seemed to think, there had to be some connection. The Hand of Glory had to be in his office for some reason. Either he had had some contact with Nott, with Draco Malfoy, or… well, she would not entertain the last possibility.

The door of Scorpius's father's old study was locked, as it always was, and Rose murmured a quick counter-spell, wincing at the loud click of the lock. She pushed it open and stepped inside, a musty smell rising to greet her. It was clear no one had been inside here for a long time. Her wandlight fell over a chaos of folders, parchments and bindings piled high, spilled ink pots that had long since dried out, empty crystal glasses covered in dust, a decanter still full of Firewhiskey.

"George Ripley," Rose murmured to herself as she advanced forward, scanning the mess. If he had been in contact with Draco Malfoy, there might be some evidence here. Or there might be nothing.

Nothing: that was what she hoped with all her heart. And as she pulled out shelves, upended boxes and tapped floorboards, that became more and more likely. She found countless boxes marked with the Gringotts seal, and in them vault entry records and currency exchange forms, whose small print she scanned over and over until her head was throbbing. No names jumped out, and the pieces of parchment drifted to the floor one after the other.

After what felt like hours, something gave a nudge to her consciousness, and Rose, who could barely keep her eyes open at this point, re-read the document in her hands. She saw that it was a vault-check form, signed with Draco Malfoy's name, and, a little below it, her uncle's signature. The date: 29 November 2022. Casting her mind, she remembered that as in her sixth year; it would have been around the same time as the Gryffindor/Slytherin match - the one James had won by using his gold watch as a decoy Snitch.

Rose blinked at the parchment, for the date had changed. It now read 8 June 2019. She blinked again, and the numbers wavered and returned to 2022. "What in Merlin…"

"Rose?" Through the half-open door of the study, she heard the sleepy voice of Scorpius drifting from the landing above. Hastily, she folded the parchment and stuffed it in the pocket of her sweatshirt, waved her wand to erase all obvious signs of her search, and then snuffed her wandlight and backed out, closing the door gently behind her.

Scorpius was halfway down the stairs, and had his pyjama bottoms on, Rose noted with some relief. He rubbed his eyes, in a gesture that made him look very young, and said, "Are you having trouble sleeping?"

"No," Rose said hastily, with her hands behind her back like a guilty schoolgirl. "No, I just went to get some water." With an effort, she smiled up the stairs at him. "Go back to sleep. I'll be up in a second."

Scorpius did not put up much of a fight; he padded upstairs to his room again, promptly fell asleep against his pillows, and did not see the flash of white feathers past his window as Rose Weasley's owl streaked out into the night, bound for the Aldertons' house in Godric's Hollow.

* * *

On Saturday afternoons, the Great Hall in Hogwarts was used as a practice space for the school choir. Daisy Abbott was unaware of this fact, but having her own reasons for wanting to escape the Hufflepuff dormitory, followed the sound of singing from the basement. It was a wet day, and as she climbed the staircase to the Entrance Hall, she could see the rain pelting down on the courtyards outside through the arrow loops in the thick stone walls.

She had missed her music since coming here; her fingers itched for the familiar touch of piano keys. Back home in Arnos Grove, any time she had been seized by violent emotion, she would wander into the music room, sit down at the stool and play it all away. But here, there was no such outlet, and at present, Daisy's hands were trembling with unexpressed fury.

This morning she had woken early, left the dormitory for a walk around the grounds, and returned to find it empty. She had stepped into the bathroom, pulled the door ajar, and then become witness to a conversation which was definitely not intended for her ears.

"... don't know why she's here." Daisy recognised the chirpy voice of Quidditch match commentator who had invited her to join the Gobstones game on her first evening. What was her name? Treena or Terri... There was the rustle of robes, and then the voice went on, in confiding tones,

"It's different with Lucinda Scamander. She studied at home. But Daisy Abbott? You know she'd never done a bit of magic in her life till she came here? She shouldn't be in our class at all. They should have started her at first year level."

"She doesn't seem interested in getting to know any of us, either." The other girl's voice was lighter, with a hint of an accent, and she sounded closer to the door. "Keeps to herself the whole time. She actually called me _Mindy_ today when I offered to help with her books."

Daisy, her back now pressed against the bathroom door as she listened, winced.

"I can see it already." The first speaker (whom Daisy now tentatively named in her mind as Tracy) sounded weary. "She's going to slow us down. Did you see how Cattermole was going over basic Defence today? We must have done the Disarming Charm a hundred times."

"A hundred more won't be enough for her to learn." Not-Mindy then gave an unexpected giggle. "Dim Daisy."

Daisy Abbott stiffened, while a third voice broke in, "You should stick to vanity spells, Meena. Nicknames aren't your style."

"And losing us House Points, too." Tracy carried on as though the other girl had not spoken. "Is it that hard to be on time for one class?"

"I do feel sorry for her, though." That was Meena again. "Imagine having Alice Longbottom as your cousin."

The two other voices hummed in agreement. "She thinks she _owns_ Hugo Weasley," Tracy complained.

"And it can't be easy, living on the Longbottoms' charity," Meena said, lowering her voice so that she spoke in a carrying whisper. "You know I heard the Abbotts didn't have a Knut when they died? Neville Longbottom had to pay for everything she owns..."

At which point in the conversation Daisy Abbott pushed herself off the door and onto the balls of her feet, flushed the toilet loudly, and then proceeded to enter the dormitory and pretend that she had not heard a thing.

Now, standing outside the Great Hall doors, she looked inside to see twenty or so students in black robes, music stands before them. Several more were watching, sitting or standing; with his back to her stood a skinny blond wizard whom she recognised as the librarian, his arms raised as he conducted, and in the corner of the hall her cousin Alice Longbottom was providing a halting organ accompaniment.

The music was already having a calming effect on her; eyes half-closed, she listened as the students started to sing:

" _How should I your true love know_

 _From another one?_

 _By his cockle hat and staff_

 _And his sandal shoon…_ "

"Daisy!" Lucinda Scamander's carrying voice caused several of those watching the practice to look around; baffled, Daisy opened her eyes again to see the short-haired girl beckoning her inside. "Daisy, over here!"

The organ keys slipped a little between verses; Daisy could not help glancing over as she entered the Hall and met her cousin's gaze, seeing the disgruntled expression on Alice's face before she resumed playing.

"Oh good," Lu said cheerfully as Daisy reached her. "I was afraid you didn't hear me."

In ordinary circumstances, Daisy would have remarked that there was little danger of that, however, as she took her place in the group of onlookers, all she could think of was Lu Scamander's white face on the train as the bad news was delivered to her. Tongue-tied, she gazed at her for a moment before stammering, "I'm so sorry about your brother…"

"Please," Lu interrupted. "Do you realise how many people have come up to me to sympathise since I arrived back here? People I've never seen in my life. One boy even asked me to Hogsmeade."

"When did you come back?" Daisy asked in a low voice, painfully aware that those around them were making an especial effort not to stare.

"Yesterday, but I didn't go to class." Eagerly, Lu turned to face her fully. "What House were you sorted into?"

"Hufflepuff."

"That's too bad." Lu pouted. "The Hat said I was a born Ravenclaw."

"Lucinda," Daisy said gently, as the conductor turned around to give them a pointed look. "Maybe we should keep our voices down…"

"Oh, don't mind _him_. Mr Shirley's not going to tell me off for talking. He nearly cried when he saw me in the library this morning - tried to give me a book on grief handling and everything."

Baffled, Daisy studied the other girl's face, which bore not a trace of pain or sadness. "But aren't you…"

"No, no, _no_!" Mr Shirley exclaimed, his voice echoing across the Hall, and the singing broke off as he stormed across to the organ, all but shoving Alice Longbottom off the stool. Daisy watched as she made her way back to the choir, scowling.

Beside her, Lu gasped and clutched at her arm, pointing over her shoulder. "That's him! The boy who asked me to Hogsmeade."

As the organ started up again, this time by Mr Shirley, Daisy Abbott turned and saw, emerging through the Great Hall doors, the third year who had rescued her from Peeves the previous morning. He had a canvas bag slung over his shoulder, and kept his head down as he took his place by the wall. Something like a ripple passed among the crowd watching, but still he did not look up, a look of intense concentration on his face as he listened.

" _Him_?" Daisy murmured to her friend. "But I know him."

A solo female voice drifted from the choir, a little off-key as it sang,

" _White his shroud as the mountain snow_

 _Larded with sweet flowers_

 _Which bewept to the grave did go_

 _With true love showers…_ "

"He's Tobias Greengrass," Lu told Daisy loudly, and the dark-skinned boy looked up at the sound of his name. His eyes flickered between the two girls, and he raised his eyebrows slightly but did not smile.

Now, Lucinda Scamander appeared to be making some attempt to lower her voice. She leaned in to Daisy. "His mother Daphne…"

"I know," Daisy said hastily, anxious that the boy not hear them discussing his family. Unable to resist another glance, however, she turned again as the choir joined the solo voice for the chorus.

" _He is dead and gone, lady_

 _He is dead and gone_

 _At his head a grass-green turf_

 _At his heels a stone_

 _At his heels a stone._ "

Tobias Greengrass did not look up this time, busy scribbling something down on a piece of parchment. Daisy remembered what he had said to her about spending most of his first year in detention. How difficult must it be, she wondered, to get on at school when all the world knew what his parents had done? At the time of James Potter's death, Daphne Greengrass's face had been all over the papers. To Daisy, she had looked more like a stern matriarch than a crazed criminal, although her accomplice, Theodore Nott, was a different case…

"Maybe I should have said yes," Lu Scamander was musing. "I don't normally go on dates with strange boys. But then again, it's not as though I get a lot of offers."

Daisy, smiling, was about to respond when the sound of loudly clacking heels reached their ears, and Alice Longbottom came marching up to them, a clipboard in her hand. "Are you two here to sign up?"

The choir had ceased singing and were now chatting amongst themselves while the organ worked its way through several different harmonies. Daisy looked around her, at the other students waiting in line, and realised that they had not just come to listen to the music. "Yes," she said quickly, and Lucinda, beside her, also nodded her head.

"Great," Alice said, and with a smile to Lucinda, "If you go over there and talk to Mr Shirley, he'll tell you about auditions."

The younger girl's face brightened and she trooped over to the organ. Alice turned to Daisy. Her prefect's badge caught the light of the candelabra overhead and gleamed gold. "Do you have a form?"

"What?"

"A sign-up form. It has to be signed by both of your guardians. Technically the deadline was the start of term, but I can take one off you now. And there's a small fee, too. To cover the expenses of music books and concerts."

"I didn't know," Daisy said lamely. "And Aunt Hannah's back in London - how am I supposed to get her signature…"

Her cousin made a face.

"Then you'll have to join after Christmas. We've already got a waiting list, you see. Sorry about that."

"But what about Lucinda? She doesn't have a form, either."

Alice looked aghast. "Well, we can't very well tell _her_ no, can we?" Patting Daisy's arm before moving on, "You can still come along to watch, if you like."

"They won't let you sign up?" Tobias Greengrass had sidled up to her from the edge of the Hall; she gave a start. "I auditioned before but I haven't got the voice for it."

"It doesn't matter. I didn't really want to join, anyway."

"That's the spirit." Tobias clapped her on the shoulder, then looked past to the choir, who were now folding up their stands and placing the sheet music in folders. "Most of them probably don't even know the first thing about that song they were just singing."

"What is it?" Daisy said curiously, turning to look at him. "I've heard the words somewhere before."

"It's from _Hamlet_." The Slytherin boy looked thoughtful, glancing down at the piece of parchment in his hand, then handing it to her. She read on it, in scratchy handwriting, the annotated words of the song, under the heading "Ophelia's Song".

"You know _Hamlet_?" she said, surprised. "We did it for the GCSEs."

"Everyone knows Shakespeare." Tobias Greengrass shrugged, then held out his hand again and took back the parchment. "The words are his, anyway, but Mr Shirley made the choral arrangement. He's a bit of a genius, you know."

They both looked over to the organ. Lucinda was still deep in conversation with the librarian, who was leaning over his keys as he spoke to her.

"Tell your friend the Hogsmeade offer still stands," Tobias said, and then, just as suddenly as he had approached her, he left. Daisy stayed where she was. Her anger had deflated with the sound of the choir, the words of her dormitory mates fading to the back of her mind; she did not even mind that Alice had not let her join. She just felt sad, as the words of the song went around and around in her head.

 _He is dead and gone_

 _At his head a grass-green turf_

 _At his heels a stone._

* * *

Hugo Weasley was surrounded by night sky. Constellations glittered above him, shooting stars streaked a fiery path over his head, and beneath his feet was rippling blackness. It seemed that time itself had ground to a halt as he stood there, a lone figure amid the vastness of the universe...

"Can I help you, Mr Weasley?"

In a moment, the place was transformed back into the first-floor classroom, with its old desks and peeling paint, and it was Monday morning once more. Hugo blinked, then met the earnest gaze of Professor Firenze, the Divination teacher. "Er… I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all. Class is finished." With a clip-clop of hooves, the centaur moved across to a tall end table, on which stood an earthenware pot. He scattered something into it, lit a spark and within seconds the smoke billowed up, the sharp smell of herbs reaching Hugo's nostrils. "You wish me to make a prediction?" Casting a glance at Hugo's Gryffindor jersey, "Perhaps as to the weather for the upcoming Quidditch match?"

Momentarily tempted, Hugo then shook his head reluctantly. "No, I have to ask you a question… about the other centaurs."

The Divination professor had his back to Hugo, and so he did not see his expression. He appeared calm as he scattered more herbs into the pot, and then, turning, said by way of explanation, "Students often ask me for predictions. I cannot always provide them, but sage helps me to see more clearly." There was a pause, and then, lowering his voice, "As to the rest of my kind, however, Mr Weasley, I cannot answer any questions. They do not speak with me anymore."

"But there's something going on." Hugo screwed up his face as he tried to recall what Albus had said. "In the Forbidden Forest. Something's been driving the centaurs out of their territory." With an effort, he kept his voice even as he uttered the next words. "And it might have something to do with the Resurrection Stone."

Firenze turned around, his long blond hair rippling on his back, and fixed Hugo with his piercing blue eyes. It seemed they stood there in silence for a long time until finally, the centaur said, "What do you know about Pluto, Mr Weasley?"

"What?"

"Pluto." Calmly, the centaur waved a hand, and once more the night sky was stretched out above them; he pointed towards a distant, twinkling light at its far end. "Can you tell me anything about it?"

"It's… a dwarf-planet?" Hugo regarded the star uncertainly; he had never paid much attention in Astronomy.

"And its moon, Charon?"

"Er…" Why had he let Albus talk him into this? His routine today left no time for some kind of planet exam; it was clearly laid out in his mind: polish broom, lunch, study, Transfiguration, more study, solo flight…

(... mentoring Daisy Abbott…)

"Pluto and Charon always show one another the same faces," Firenze was saying. "This is rare - and rarer still do they align in relation to the Earth's moon." He waved a hand, and the position of the stars in the night sky shifted before Hugo. "It happened, a year ago." Another wave of the hand, another shift in the night sky. "Six months ago, the Earth, its moon, and Pluto and Charon were all aligned."

"Right," Hugo said slowly, scratching his head. "Interesting." He took a step towards the door. "I'd better get going, anyway…"

"Pluto was the Roman god of death." Firenze's voice stopped him as he reached the door. "And Charon was the ferryman of Hades, who brought souls to the underworld."

Slowly, Hugo Weasley turned. The centaur went on, his blue eyes fixed intently on him, "You spoke of the Resurrection Stone." Moving his eyes upwards, to the sky above them. "At these times I have mentioned, I have noted a disturbance among those who used to be my kindred. The centaurs have moved closer to the castle than ever before." He waved his hand one last time as Hugo stared. "And in two months' time, during the lunar eclipse, there will be a singular alignment: Pluto, Charon, the moon, the Earth and the sun."

"Two months," Hugo muttered. "And you think there'll be another disturbance then?"

The classroom around them was restored to its usual proportions, and Firenze Vanished the pot of herbs. "I have told you what I know."

Hugo Weasley nodded. The smell of burning sage, which lingered in the air, was starting to make his head pound. "Well - thank you. I suppose."

"You're welcome. And Mr Weasley…" The centaur called after him as he made for the door. This time, Hugo did not turn. "... you should not dismiss the things you do not understand." With a smile in his voice, "They may turn out to be more precious than you ever imagined."

* * *

Daisy Abbott was grateful for the fact that the greenhouses were clearly numbered, thus reducing the possibility of her getting lost on the way to Herbology. The class was just getting settled when she entered into the damp, oppressive heat of Greenhouse 4, and she dropped into one of the seats at the back, breathing a sigh of relief that she was not late. In the row in front of her, she observed the curly head of her cousin Enid, beside a girl she did not know.

Professor Longbottom advanced towards them, pulling on a pair of thick gloves as he scanned the class. His eyes skimmed over Daisy and Enid alike, as though they were ordinary students. "Everyone, suit up well for today! We're going to be dealing with Fanged Geraniums. They're vicious plants when provoked, so keep your hands away from those sensitive roots. I'll need you to work in pairs to extract their seeds."

At the word 'pairs', Daisy's heart sank. Across the aisle, Tracy Towers and Meena Kapoor were determinedly avoiding her gaze. Swallowing, she stared down at the pot of soil before her.

"Hi, Daisy!" The bright greeting of Enid Longbottom reached her ears, and Daisy looked up to see her cousin plop down beside her, while the girl in front of them moved to join Tracy and Meena. "Do you want to do the Shrivelfig shavings, or will I?"

Inexpressibly grateful, Daisy gestured for her cousin to do the honours, and watched as she carefully scattered the shavings over the dark soil. Green shoots popped up first, and within seconds, the geranium sat in its pot, fully formed, as it shook soil off its bright green leaves.

"They might look harmless," Professor Longbottom called out as he paced the aisle between the worktops, raising his voice over the din. "But those fangs will come out snapping if you handle the geraniums in the wrong way." Passing Enid and Daisy, he gave them a little smile this time before turning and moving up to the top of the greenhouse again.

"Right," Enid said. There was a look of intense concentration on her face as she regarded the geranium before them; it struck Daisy that she had never before seen her this serious. Fixing on her goggles, "I'm going to look for the seed head. You hold the pot steady."

Nodding, Daisy put her hand to the pot as Enid carefully bent towards it, her hands tentatively brushing through the petals. Then, abruptly, a student passed their worktop and jolted it; the pot tilted dangerously, and Daisy instinctively snatched out with her hands, pulling at the long white roots that emerged writhing from the soil. A second later, Enid gave a howl of pain, rearing backwards with her hands over her nose. In horror, Daisy stared at the pair of snapping fangs that had poked their way out of the soil, and were now dripping with red.

The greenhouse went dead silent. A dozen heads turned to regard the pair: Daisy, dumbfounded, with her hands still mechanically clutching the pot, and Enid, blood gushing over her fingers as the geranium continued to snap and growl.

Neville Longbottom gained the bottom of the greenhouse in a few quick strides, firmly pulled the pot out of Daisy's hands and tapped it once with his wand. With one last growl, the plant retreated back into the soil, and the Herbology professor took the arm of his whimpering daughter. Addressing the class, "I'm sure you all have plenty of assignments from your other subjects; you may work on those until I get back from the hospital wing."

Daisy rose from her seat and followed her uncle to the door. "I'm so sorry - can I help…"

Enid cowered away at the sound of her voice, and Professor Longbottom snapped over his shoulder, "Stay here, Daisy."

The door of the greenhouse slammed shut behind the two, so hard that the glass trembled. Slowly, she took her seat again, painfully aware of the many gazes fixed upon her.

"Are you daft?" Tracy Towers exclaimed, shaking her head as she looked back at her, one arm over the back of her chair. "What did he say? Don't touch the roots!"

"Poor Enid," someone else said, and Daisy looked down. She sat still and waited until the buzz of conversation had resumed around her before she made her escape.

It was raining again, but the icy drops gave her no relief. She stumbled through the mud, blinded with tears, no longer caring about the hem of her robes. The castle loomed up before her, then swung away again as her feet carried her elsewhere. Soon she found, after passing through a copse of trees and over a stile, that she was in a kind of garden.

Either a large Impervius charm protected the place, or it had stopped raining; Daisy was inclined to think the former more likely, for the air around her was warm and dry, the only sounds that reached her ears the faint singing of crickets and the low call of a thrush. She stood amid winding gravel paths, neat rows of fragrant flowers and little tranquil pools dotted with lily pads. Drying her tears on the sleeve of her robes, she looked around at it all, unable to help her wonder.

The rustle of robes told her that someone was nearby, and a moment later, as she rounded a corner in the path, she came upon a boy in a Slytherin tie, his dark head bowed as he stood before a tall, slender oak sapling. She had begun to tiptoe away, with the intention of leaving him in peace, when he spoke.

"Who have you lost?"

"What?"

Tobias Greengrass turned around and looked at her. His solemn brown eyes had no hint of tears about them, but there was a tightness about his face, that wrenched at something inside Daisy. "This is a memorial garden. Planted after the war." He gestured around him, at the bursting green and budding leaves. "You can only enter if you've lost someone close to you." His voice dropped a little. "It's always summer here."

The words sank into Daisy's consciousness, and she felt a stirring in the back of her mind; they reminded her of something: an old song she had once heard, perhaps, years ago…

"So who have you lost?"

Daisy met Tobias's dark gaze, and chewed her lips. "My parents. Though I never really knew them."

The Greengrass boy inclined his head as if in acknowledgement of this, and gestured to the sapling before him. "My dad. I planted this here after he was killed." Turning his back on her again, he added shortly, "Yes. Blaise Zabini, Death Eater and murderer."

"I didn't - "

"Come off it. You wanted to ask." Tobias Greengrass shifted on his feet, then beckoned. "Here. You can take a closer look if you want."

Daisy, a little uncertain at the raw emotion in Tobias's voice, took a step forward until she was level with him. He pointed to the smooth bark, into which rough writing had been etched. She read the words: MY FATHER.

"That's what he was." Tobias spoke flatly now. "You said you never knew your parents. Well, I never really knew my dad, either, but that wasn't his fault. He didn't want to leave us." He made a sound that could have been a laugh or a cough. "Not like Mum. She ran away with her man first chance she got."

There was a long silence, during which a bird flitted to another tree above them, passing so close that its wings beat cool air on their faces. Tobias looked up, and Daisy, her head tilted as she regarded him, put a hand to his shoulder. He shook it off, not ungently, and said, "Shouldn't you be in class, anyway?"

Daisy winced as she was confronted once more with the memory of Herbology, which had momentarily receded to the back of her mind. "No." She spoke freely, as though Tobias were an old friend. "I shouldn't be here at all. In Hogwarts."

Tobias Greengrass did not ask her what she meant; he did not even seem particularly interested as he lowered his gaze from the sky to regard her once more. Then, with a shrug of his shoulders, "Me neither, according to most people. But here I am." Brushing past her, "Come on. I'll walk you back."

Daisy followed him reluctantly, her head turning this way and that to drink in the sights, the sounds, the smells... It would be easy to stay here forever, she thought, in the hazy warmth, rather than return to the cold rain of the castle grounds.

Then, as they neared the stile, the sound of crying reached them, and Tobias turned, pressing a finger to his lips. Daisy followed his gaze, parting the branches of a bush beside which they had paused, and looked through to see Lucinda Scamander kneeling by one of the pools, her arms wrapped around herself as she rocked back and forth.

"I've seen her here every day since she got back," Tobias said in a low voice, then caught Daisy's arm as she started forward, with a shake of the head. "No. People come here to be alone."

"Did _you_?" Daisy couldn't help asking, as she turned to look at him, and Tobias Greengrass's mouth quirked in a sad smile.

"Well, you get tired of it after a while." Putting a hand on her shoulder, he steered her on, away from Lucinda. "Given a little time."

* * *

The grounds fell away beneath Hugo Weasley as he gained height on his Thunderbolt. Pines folded darkly beneath him, then the waters of the lake, flat and silver as metal. He brought his broomstick into a dive and dropped down, down, so close to the water that the surface broke beneath him, cool spray striking his face. Concentrating, he came level again, then let go with both hands, stretching his arms out to his sides. The wind felt as though it were rippling right through him, and it wasn't just his broomstick that was flying - it was _him_ , his body, independent of everything else…

A wall of trees rose up before him, and Hugo's hands flew back to his broom, sharply guiding it up and out, until he had risen higher than the Forest. The evening sky stretched out above him, leached of all colour but grey, like the surface of the lake. He circled back around to the Quidditch pitch, slowing when he spotted a familiar head of black hair on the ground below.

"Al," he exclaimed as soon as he was within calling distance, shading his eyes with one hand. "What are you doing here?"

"Watching my cousin master a broom I could never get off the ground." Albus Potter flinched as Hugo stepped off the Thunderbolt, splattering his spectacles with mud, then smiled and took them off, wiping them on the material of his polo jumper. "Some of those spins made me dizzy."

"You know," Hugo said lightly, tucking the broomstick under one arm, "You can't just come back to school any time you like. Even if you used to be Head Boy."

"I know," Albus replied. "But this is important."

"Right, well, come on." Hugo jerked his head onwards. "Let's talk somewhere more quiet, before Tomgallon sees you. You're lucky the rain's driven everyone else away."

Albus followed Hugo, his trainers sinking into the mud with a louder _squelch_ every time he took a step. They stepped into the changing rooms, which smelled of stale sweat and aftershave, every spare inch of the cubicles hung with vests, jerseys, and capes.

"If this is about Firenze," Hugo began, giving his cousin a wary look as he pulled off his armguards, "I sent you a letter already, with what he told me."

"I got it."

"Well, maybe you can make more sense of it than I did. All that nonsense about Pluto and Charon..."

"Pluto's the god of death. It has to mean something."

"Yeah, that's what he said, too." Hugo cast another suspicious glance at his cousin before moving for his gearbag. He stripped off his vest and seized a clean shirt. Over his shoulder, "I didn't know you bought into all that astrology stuff."

"Why are you getting dressed up?" Albus said, ignoring this.

"I've got this stupid mentoring thing." Hugo checked his watch. "In about a half hour, actually, so you'd better make this quick." He began to button his shirt, and without looking at his cousin, "How did you get here, anyway? Aren't you supposed to be working?"

"It's my day off," Albus replied faintly. "Got the Knight Bus to Hogsmeade." He looked around the changing rooms, at the hanging medals, the tacked-up posters and framed team photographs, with an expression on his face as though he were not really seeing any of it. "So how long did Firenze say, until the next lunar eclipse?"

"Two months, something like that." Hugo snapped down the collar of his shirt, and kicked off his boots next, slipping into a pair of black sneakers. "I don't really think he knew what he was talking about, Al. The centaurs don't speak to him anymore, so how would he have any idea what's going on with them?" He moved to the cracked mirror, and ran a hand over his hair.

"I'm sure he keeps tabs on the colony." Behind him, abruptly, Albus Potter sat down on the bench, and started to rummage through a bag Hugo had not noticed before. "I need you to do something for me."

"Depends on what it is." Hugo stared sullenly at his own reflection. He heard his cousin take a deep breath, then,

"I need you to keep an eye on the Forest over the next while. When the time comes, I can be there to retrieve the Stone, but in the meantime, we have to make sure no one else reaches it before we do. The map Malfoy found had to have been drawn by someone - someone who had an idea of where they could find it."

"I'm not following."

Albus sounded eager. "Don't you see? The centaurs described the beings invading their territory as shadow men: apparitions which occur only at the times Pluto is aligned with the Earth, or its moon, or our moon... Because of the _Stone_. Someone is sneaking into the Forest to use the Resurrection Stone at these times, and we need to find out who it is!"

Hugo put a hand to his forehead, shut his eyes for a moment. In a low voice, "OK. And then what - you find the Stone? You use it to bring back James?"

For a minute or two, there was no sound but the wind outside. And then Albus rose to his feet. "That's not the plan. That was _never_ the plan." He spoke fast, his words tripping over one another. "The plan is to stop Dark wizards from using the Stone for their own purposes. It's a dangerous weapon…"

"So get your dad and the Aurors to retrieve it." Hugo did not turn, but met his cousin's gaze through the mirror. "Aren't they more equipped to deal with this stuff?"

"Dad can't know." The words were like a whip. "Or Mum, or Lily. Because you know they would use it to bring him back. They wouldn't be able to help themselves."

Silence. Albus took a few steps, came level with Hugo, and passed a bundle of silvery material into his hands. "Take this. You'll need it." He drew out a piece of parchment, tapped it with his wand. " _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good._ And this. So you can check if anyone's sneaking out to the Forest at night… anyone who shouldn't be here - what?"

Hugo had made a choking noise in his throat as he stared down at the items his cousin had pressed into his hands. "The Invisibility Cloak. And the Marauder's Map."

"Yeah, I'm lending them to you." There was an edge of impatience to Albus's tone now. "I told you, you won't even have to go into the Forest itself - just step out after curfew from time to time, patrol the castle, make sure everyone's where they should be." He glanced at his own watch, and winced. "Listen, I'd better be off. It's getting late. If you have any questions - "

"Albus." Hugo Weasley's voice cut across the changing rooms as his cousin was moving to leave. "I can't take these."

Albus Potter looked back. Hugo's jaw was hanging open a little, but his brown eyes were blazing with something like anger. "Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, they're _his_!"

Albus's shoulders lifted, and he sighed. "They passed on to me after James died. And now I'm giving them to you…"

"I don't _want_ them!" Hugo's voice rose; in alarm, Albus took a step backwards. "I'm not going to go sneaking around the castle like some spy. I'm not risking that. One more detention and I lose the team!"

"Oh, Hugo, come on. This is the _Resurrection Stone_ we're talking about. There are more important things…"

"To you, maybe! To Rose! To Malfoy!" Hugo was almost shouting now. "To _James_! But not to me, Al! Because I'm not him!"

Silence. The colour had drained from Albus's face as though he had been slapped; he seemed to slacken, shrink before Hugo's eyes. At last, he said in a low voice, "I know that."

"Oh, you're sure?" For some reason, seeing Albus so defeated only made Hugo angrier. "Because there are similarities, right? I'm captain, too, like he was, so it's easy to get mixed up, I understand…"

In a few quick steps, Albus crossed the changing room, snatched the Cloak and Map out of his cousin's hands and put them away again, all without meeting his gaze. "Forget about it, then."

"What, the Stone and everything?" Hugo was surprised, despite himself.

"And everything." Albus turned away, snapped the strap of his bag over his shoulder. His voice carried back to Hugo from the door, sharp and startling. "And you're nothing like James. You're a child."

* * *

Geoffrey Alderton waited until the office upstairs in Gringotts was deserted for lunchtime before he approached Rose Weasley's desk. He had been standing quietly in his place for hours while the business of the day unfolded around him, a paragon of patience.

"I looked it up," he said in a low voice, stopping before her cubicle and resting his elbows on it. He was clad in his Auror robes, his fair hair neatly slicked back over his scalp.

"What?" she asked, looking up from the pile of post Bill Weasley had asked her to sort through that morning. Then, with a sigh, "You know, it really isn't necessary to stay here guarding me all day…"

"After I got your owl, I checked Draco Malfoy's wand records," he cut her off. "And it turns out that the date on that vault check form you found in his study was magically altered. It was originally used in 2019."

Slowly, Rose nodded, pursing her lips. "So why would he - "

"Astoria Malfoy was broken out of Azkaban by the Truthseekers in the same week that the form was renewed," Geoffrey Alderton said, and she saw a shadow pass over his face at the memory. "Two years ago, in 2022. As payment for the task Draco Malfoy performed for them."

"No," Rose said, shaking her head as she stood from her desk. Her voice was now no louder than a whisper. "No, he couldn't have broken into Gringotts. Not _here_. There've only been two successful break-ins in history…"

"Two known break-ins," the Auror reminded her. Pausing, as he swept his glance around the deserted office, "Now, the question is what he was looking for: what the Truthseekers wanted him to get."

Suddenly Rose felt very weary. She took a step back from Geoffrey Alderton. "I don't care. This is… too much."

"You're involved now, whether you like it or not." Geoffrey Alderton's voice followed her as she walked away. "Ask your boyfriend to tell you the truth. Find out what he's been keeping from you. And why."

Rose Weasley squeezed her eyes shut as she passed through the door leading out of the office, and could not find it within her to reply.

* * *

As soon as classes finished for the day, Daisy Abbott hurried through the crowded corridors to the hospital wing. She was informed at the door by Healer Hopkirk that it was too late for visitors, and turned away again, morose, only to step right into her uncle.

"Daisy!" he exclaimed. "Were you going to see Enid?"

She nodded quickly, looking up at him anxiously. "About today - I didn't mean to…"

"Of course you didn't," Neville Longbottom said warmly, and put out a hand, clasping her shoulder. "And she's fine, Daisy. She was dismissed after Hopkirk set her nose. Nothing an early night won't cure."

Instead of feeling relieved at his words, Daisy felt curiously heavy: a sensation which only increased as he went on, "I'm sorry if I snapped at you, back in the greenhouse. I got a bit of a shock - the feelings of a father took over, you know. It's silly."

Daisy looked down, and after a moment, heard herself mumble, "I think I should be put back at first-year level."

"First-year level?" Neville repeated. "What are you talking about?" At her silence, he shook his head, smiling. "You can't let a few mistakes discourage you, Daisy. I've been talking to your other professors and they tell me you're doing fine. It's early days yet!" Lowering his voice, "I was a disaster in school, you know, for the first few years, but McGonagall always had faith in me. And I have faith in _you_ , Daisy. I know you'll get better."

Daisy looked up at the kind face of her uncle, and felt a lump forming in her throat.

"You just keep working hard with your mentor, and you'll catch up." Neville glanced up at the clock above the door of the hospital wing. "Don't you have a session this evening?" At his niece's nod, he patted her shoulder once more and then let go. "Better run along, then."

"Thank you," she said miserably, and hurried past him before he could see the tears forming in her eyes.

* * *

"You're late." Hugo Weasley did not bother lowering his voice when Daisy Abbott came into the alcove by the Charms section of the library. She did not respond, trudging around the table, her satchel trailing on the floor behind her. Bemused, he followed her with his eyes as she took her seat beside him. She had taken off her school robes and was clad in a blouse and pinafore with a poorly-knotted tie. "And you don't seem very sorry. Do you realise how many other things I could be doing with my time?"

"I've had a long day," she said in a low voice, her hair falling around her face as she reached into her bag for a quill.

"Oh, _you've_ had a long day?" Hugo repeated incredulously. "You don't want to know how long mine's been." Opening his notebook, "So let's get cracking. What did Umfraville assign you for this week?" As Daisy pulled out _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ , he peered over her shoulder, then sighed. "Oh, wonderful."

A dark blue puddle of ink had blotted out most of the pages of the textbook. Daisy regarded it glumly, then turned her head towards him. "Can I borrow - "

"No, we're not using mine." Hugo gestured towards the book. "Clean the ink. That'll be your first lesson." As she stared at him, "Well? Are you a witch or aren't you?"

Daisy Abbott flushed a dark pink, but her mentor appeared unaware that he was echoing the words he had spoken in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes as he pointed to the stain. "Go on."

Hand trembling, she drew out her wand.

"You've got to hold it steady," Hugo instructed, brisk and businesslike as he reached over to right her wrist. "And point. There. The incantation's _Tergeo_. Say it when you're ready."

" _Tergeo_ ," Daisy echoed, and the stain vanished.

"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?" Then he saw, as she lowered her wand, the spreading blue stain on her white blouse. "Oh. Well - er - we'll keep working on it."

The box windows of the library darkened, torches were lit, students vacated the library one by one, and Hugo Weasley repeatedly dropped his forehead onto the wood of the table. "What part of this aren't you getting? It's one of the four branches of Transfiguration."

"But where do Vanished objects go?" Daisy exclaimed, rubbing her eyes. "It doesn't make sense."

"It's the rules. They don't have to make sense." Hugo let out an indistinct groan, slapping his hand to his head. "You're not making this easy, you know."

"Neither are you," she shot back, and he peered out at her through his fingers, mildly surprised. Her little mouth was set, and her eyes met his with something like defiance. "You're not a very good teacher."

Hugo sat up in his chair and snapped the book shut. "Well, I'm the only one you have. And I need a bloody break." As she began to gather up her things, " _No_ , not you. You don't get one. You stay here and read…" Standing, he thumbed through the textbook again. "This chapter, on Animal Transfiguration. I want to see it finished by the time I get back." Turning on his heel, he left the alcove behind.

The small, elevated courtyard by the North Tower was used by both students and staff for one specific purpose, and Hugo, despite the numerous good reasons why he should not, found himself joining their ranks today. He huddled by its edge and lit a cigarette.

Around him, the place was deserted, raw wind whistling on damp stone. He blew out skeins of smoke that took on a life of their own and tried to forget everything about today - from Firenze to Albus to Daisy Abbott.

 _You should not dismiss the things you do not understand._

 _I'm not him._

 _No, you're a child._

He closed his eyes, but that was a mistake, for the image that flashed into his head was the same one he kept seeing, night after night: James Potter lying motionless on the lawn outside the castle, his dead eyes lit by the glaring sun…

Hugo crushed the cigarette under his shoe, Vanished it, and strode back inside.

Most of the desks in the library were empty when he returned, and Mr Shirley, the librarian, gave him a disgruntled look as he passed. Hugo ignored it, moving along the lamplit aisles of books. Titles swam before his eyes in the dimness.

"I hope you've finished that - " Hugo Weasley rounded the corner to the alcove where he had left his charge and came to a halt.

Daisy Abbott was sleeping soundly, her head resting on her arms, blonde hair scattered on the desk around her. She looked peaceful, and very young, the light of the nearby lamp bathing her features in a rosy glow.

His footfalls sounded softly on the carpeted floor as he stepped forward. Hugo craned his neck as he reached the table, and saw that she had not gotten past the title of the chapter he had told her to read. A quill drooped from her hand, dribbling ink onto her notebook, which sat open. Gently, he detached it from beneath her arms and flicked through. It was mostly blank, containing only a few hastily-scrawled Transfiguration notes, and he stopped on the first page when he saw the initials scribbled in the margin: _H.W_. Further down, as though to eliminate any doubt, was scribbled _Hugo Weasley_ , and beside it, a love heart.

"Not you, too," he said softly, his fingers tracing the letters, and Daisy Abbott made a snuffling sound in her sleep, her head shifting on her arms so that the quill brushed against her cheek, leaving behind a dot of ink. Suddenly smiling broadly, and unable to understand why, Hugo put the notebook down again beside her, and straightened. "We'll leave it for today, then."

* * *

 **A/N** : Hope you guys enjoyed! You can visit my tumblr if you have any questions.

 **Music** : "Ophelia's Song" - arranged by Elizabeth Maconchy, words by William Shakespeare

"The Name of Life" - Spirited Away soundtrack, Joe Hisaishi

"Buckbeak's Flight" - Harry Potter 3 soundtrack, John Williams

"Heartbeat" - Howl's Moving Castle, Joe Hisaishi


	7. Into the Woods

**A/N:** Hey, guys...

Yes, it's been how long? Four months? Wow. Sorry about that.

I've had the most insane summer, so that might partly account for it. It's hard to write as much when your own life is playing out like the plot of some torrid Victorian novel - populated with cads, hypocrites and philanderers galore, and rife with moral lessons. No joke. This is apparently what happens when you work in a hotel.

But death of the author and all that, right? My personal life has (or should have) nothing to do with the details of this story, of which I now feel myself dutybound to remind you after our long separation.

* * *

 **Previously:**

Daisy Abbott secures a place at Hogwarts with her cousins Alice and Enid Longbottom. What no one knows is that she sought the help of a shady witch named Moribund, who gave her a potion to grant her magic. She has made friends with the eccentric Tobias Greengrass, who introduced her to a memorial garden in the grounds reserved for students who have lost loved ones.

Albus and Scorpius are searching for the Resurrection Stone. They found a map of its location in the Forbidden Forest, and learned that the centaurs are being driven from their territory over the past while by strange apparitions they call 'shadow men'.

Lsyander Scamander, the Curse-Breaker, was killed in Alexandria by Theodore Nott, under the alias of George Ripley.

Rose has no idea about the Stone, but she and Geoffrey Alderton, the Auror who's been assigned to guard her, recently learned that an old Hand of Glory was found in the offices of "George Ripley" which might previously have been in possession of Theodore Nott. They then discovered a fudged vault check form under Draco Malfoy's name, carried out when he stole from Gringotts with the help of the Truthseekers.

Hugo is busy with school, but he recently did try to help out Albus in his search for the Resurrection Stone. He went to Firenze, who told him that the apparitions in the Forest are linked to the movements of one of Pluto's moons. After an argument with his cousin, however, revolving around the deceased James Potter, Hugo is out... or is he?

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** CopyrightJ.K. Rowling

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Into the Woods**

The dark waves rocked and tossed the small boat. Inside the cabin, a newspaper slid across the table. It fell off the edge and into Theodore Nott's outstretched hands. With a rustle, he opened it up, scanned the headlines, and then began to chuckle.

Daphne Greengrass watched him through half-lidded eyes. Ordinarily, she would have demanded why he was laughing at such a time - why the latest edition of the _Daily Prophet_ had elicited such a reaction. But days of travelling like Muggles had taken their toll; she was ill, and tired, and overwrought. Last night, tossing and turning in the hammock when it was Nott's turn to take watch, she had dreamed of a forest back home…

"It appears that Lysander Scamander's death is all part of a quest to avenge the late and great Blaise Zabini." Theodore Nott rose from the table, still holding the paper, and moved to the porthole, whose glass was so lashed with spray that it was impossible to see anything but blurry darkness without. The vessel gave another lurch, and he stumbled - instinctively, Daphne stirred out of her seat - but in another instant, he had regained his balance. "According to the reporters of the _Prophet_ , in any case."

"How?" Daphne's voice sounded low and weak to her own ears, but Theodore did not seem to notice, his long fingers now tracing the glass of the porthole. They were ghostly pale, like the rest of him: his long sojourn in hot climes had not changed that much. He had lost weight, too, she noted; the tan trousers and light cotton shirt hung off him in folds.

"Well, since the Scamanders were always good friends with the Aldertons, and since the youngest girl of the Aldertons - Penelope, I think - had a hand in Zabini's death..."

Daphne closed her eyes, her companion's voice becoming distant. In her mind's eye, she saw the site of her dream last night once more: the forest through which she had walked, the crunch of the dead brown leaves under her feet, and the sound of music playing somewhere…

Nott was still talking. "Of course, what they are not so clear on is _who_ this champion of Zabini's cause could be. There are theories, of course - "

The clapboard house, rising up in the clearing intact and freshly-painted, with flowers in the windows, as there had been in the old days… and the music - she knew now where it came from: the porch, where the wireless had been set down...

" - and your name, of course, is among them - "

… the _creak_ _squeak_ of the wood as feet moved around on the porch, small feet, tracing clumsy circles around the larger pair, and above them hands, joined together as the pair danced: mother and son - she had dark hair down her back and a wide smile on her face, and he was looking up at her with wondering eyes: he, the only one who had ever danced with her…

Daphne's head snapped up. "My name?" she repeated. Startled at the sound of her voice, Theodore Nott turned from the window and held up the paper wordlessly. On the front page she saw an old photograph. Herself in a white gown, and Blaise in a suit. Their wedding. Her throat constricted.

"I wonder who provided that snapshot," Nott mused.

"How can you be so..." Sitting up in her chair now, Daphne held a hand to her heaving chest. "My boys, Theo. My _boys_. When the _Prophet_ is delivered to Hogwarts, and they see that picture on the front…" She shook her head. "The other children, do you think they'll let a thing like that go? They're merciless there, Theo."

All trace of mirth had faded from Theodore's face. "Yes, I remember." He was looking at her steadily; he had not advanced forward a step as she spoke, even though the wild, rocking motion of the boat had eased somewhat. "But, Daphne, take comfort from this. We will be there soon."

"There?" she exclaimed, her voice strangely shrill to her own ears. "In Hogwarts? Theo, how do you expect us to get back into the country, let alone the most high-security school in the wizarding world? You've told me nothing of your plan - nothing of…"

"Ssssh." Theodore Nott pressed a long finger to his lips, his eyes still locked with her own. After they had been staring at one another for a moment, he beckoned towards the door. "Come, let's see if the wind has died down." Deaf to her protests, he helped her gather up her things, throw a cloak around her shoulders. Then, rung by rung, they ascended the shaky ladder onto the wide deck of the boat.

The cold night air cooled her face. A dry wind was still blowing; above them stretched a carpet of stars, and the hulking black of the Rock of Gibraltar towered to their left. She craned her neck to look; its height made her dizzy. She reached for Nott's hand. His fingers fumbled with her own.

There was a strange sound nearby, like the great slurping of some greedy monster.

"That," Theodore said, his voice only just audible over the wind. " _That_ is how we will get out of this place." He led her like a child, right to the edge of the bow. Peering over as the spray struck their faces, Daphne gasped: there was a vast whirlpool right ahead, swelling and sucking in the dark sea.

One of the crew members shouted to another in their own tongue, and the boat began to turn about, but not fast enough: the deck tilted crazily, and Daphne screamed as the black surface of the sea lurched up to her. They were soaked through when the vessel righted itself again, and through the strands of hair plastered to her face, Daphne stared at Theodore Nott. Their hands had been ripped apart by the motion of the boat, and now hers felt cold and numb. "What in Merlin's name..."

"It's a portal," Nott told her, while the shouting of the crew grew louder and more panicked around them. Through it all, he stayed immovable as a boulder, and his face did not register the slightest hint of fear, even as the vessel dipped again. "It will take us where we need to go."

"But - Theo - _Theo_!" Daphne Greengrass's shriek was lost as the boat gave one final lurch, and was dragged down into the wailing depths of the whirlpool.

* * *

Hogwarts had not seen such a warm October for some years.

Ordinarily, the first frosts of winter would have penetrated the castle by this time, but this year it was different. A trace of summer lingered: a heat that belied the dying trees and yellow leaves. For the students unfortunate enough to have signed up for the long-distance run around the perimeter of the castle grounds on the last Saturday of the month, it was not entirely welcome.

Hugo Weasley cleared the fallen tree-trunk with one leap and struck the ground running. The path stretched out before him in all its serpentine length: it was bordered on the right by the dark trees of the Forbidden Forest, and on the left by the calm waters of the lake.

He did not think. The only sounds that registered in his mind were the soft squelch of his boots on the damp path, the lapping of lakewater, and the beat of wings as birds took to the sky, startled from their perches by his passage. He did not hear the distant shouts of the other students, most of whom had fallen behind after the first few laps of the grounds.

Naturally, it came as a bit of a surprise when Alice Longbottom pulled up level with him on the path. She was breathing hard, but appeared to fall in with his rhythm easily, until their feet were striking the ground in unison. Hugo glanced across at her, and she smiled back. A warm pink mantled her brow and spread right to the roots of her hair. The sunlight filtering through the trees cast a dappled pattern on her cheeks.

"Have to say I'm impressed," he said finally, as they crested a rise on the path.

"Had to - leave the others behind," Alice panted. "They couldn't keep up."

Hugo cast another glance at her, this time calculating. "We could use someone with your level of fitness on the team, you know."

He didn't know where she found the breath for it, but the peals of laughter rose from Alice Longbottom like the tinkling of bells. "I can't fly for my life."

"I'm sure you could learn," Hugo said generously, and Alice laughed again. Then, at a distant shout from behind, she turned and lifted a hand.

"That must be the others." Turning to Hugo, "Come on, let's pick up the pace."

Hugo was only too happy to oblige. Their feet struck the ground at a faster rhythm, drops of mud flying into the air. Without looking around, he asked, "You don't want to wait for them?"

"I want to _win_ ," was his companion's reply, and Hugo raised his eyebrows. They were coming around a bend in the path now, the Forest falling away behind them. Up ahead reared the stony heights of the castle.

He sensed, rather than saw, her smile. "Race you to the boathouse." And then Alice had sped on ahead. Hugo put on a sprint, his legs burning. The wind rushed at his face, his blood pumped in his ears, and his breath came in short, controlled bursts. In another second, he had pulled up beside Alice, then passed her out and slammed the heels of his hands on the wall of the boathouse. Laughing, gasping, she stumbled to a halt behind him.

"You win."

"But you come an honourable second." Hugo turned, leaning his back against the stone wall of the boathouse, and grinned at her. "Which isn't so bad, really."

Alice grinned back at him as she untied her hair. "There's no such thing as an honourable second."

* * *

"Where have they _gone_?" Enid Longbottom exclaimed.

Daisy Abbott found herself incapable of providing an answer to her cousin's question. For one thing, it was the third time it had been posed in the space of a few minutes, and for another, she had a rawness to her throat that made it difficult to speak at that moment. At any rate, Enid did not seem to expect one; she shaded her eyes with one hand and peered across the courtyard, where the doors had been thrown open onto the grounds, and warm breezes blew through, sending the covers on the trestle tables flapping.

A buffet had been set up by the house-elves for those returning from the run - an inducement that explained some of the more unlikely participants' joining in the morning's exercise - and students were milling about with plates in their hands, chatting eagerly.

Putting down her glass of pumpkin juice on the stone wall beside them, Enid stood on tiptoe - a rather unnecessary action, considering she was tall enough to see over most of the other students' heads, then rocked back on her heels, sighing. "I can't see anything." Turning to Daisy impatiently, "You were closer behind them on the run. Where did you say they went?"

"They were heading for the boathouse last I saw them." Daisy moved the glass before her cousin knocked it off the wall. She herself had a plate lined with sausages and bacon, which she had not touched. "By the time I got there, they were gone."

Enid huffed a sigh. "Don't see why she couldn't have waited for us." Scuffing the toe of her shoe on the stone, she muttered, "It wasn't like it was a proper competition."

Daisy fanned herself with the collar of her T-shirt, which was soaked with her own sweat, and tried to think of something consoling to say. After all, it was impossible for her not to be sympathetic to Enid's injured feelings; they were of the same species as those which had seized her when she had seen Hugo and Alice running together - so well-matched and graceful and...

"There they are!" Daisy looked in the direction her cousin had indicated, towards the open doors of the courtyard. Hugo drew her eye first: clad in a Puddlemere United T-shirt and shorts, he was grinning, and this, compounded with the windblown state of his hair, made him appear less severe than usual. At his side skipped a triumphant Alice, and when she surveyed her cousin's shining dark hair and long, athletic strides, it struck Daisy that Enid was right: it was not a competition.

It had never been any kind of competition.

"I'm going to see what kept them so long," Enid Longbottom said crossly, and she scrambled away from Daisy without waiting for any kind of acknowledgement, through the crowd of students and towards the victorious pair.

Disinclined to follow after Enid, not least because it might draw unfavourable comparisons between the angry flush she knew herself to be sporting and the healthy glow she had observed her elder cousin's cheeks, Daisy Abbott stayed where she was, leaning her back against the pillar behind her, and tilted her face up to survey the blue sky.

"Nice tracksuit." She started, and looked around to see Tobias Greengrass standing on the other side of the pillar, within the cloister. "Looks like it fitted you ten years ago."

"No need to be rude," Daisy shot back. Then, sighing, she leaned her elbows on the wall, and looked down at her ratty Ashmole Academy running gear. "I didn't have anything else."

"Oh, boohoo. Poor little Abbott. You know no one was forcing you to go on that stupid run." Tobias vaulted over the wall, landing clumsily beside her and making her jump. "Is there any food left?"

"It's not for you," Daisy said, with a pointed look at his black jeans and jumper. "It's only for the people who took part today."

"Come on, you can sneak me a little something." Tobias nudged her, then, as she continued to look straight ahead, followed her gaze to where Hugo and Alice now stood by the buffet table, being congratulated by Professor Longbottom. " _Oh_. Sour grapes, are we? So I'm guessing you didn't do as well as you were hoping." He glanced at the faded yellow crest on her T-shirt. "Didn't they teach you anything in that Muggle school?"

"P.E. was never my strong suit," Daisy muttered.

"P.E.?" Tobias repeated, confused.

"I'm not in the mood, Tobias." Daisy Abbott pushed off the wall and sloped off, her shoulders slumped.

"I didn't even ask - " the Slytherin called after her, baffled, and as she continued on into the castle, shrugged his shoulders. Reaching over, he seized a piece of bacon off her abandoned plate and tossed it into his mouth. Then, seized by a capital idea, he began to make his way around the edge of the courtyard, keeping his eyes peeled for any more unattended plates of food. Having only the disapproving stares of other students to contend with (and he met each of these with an unconcerned smile), Tobias went unimpeded in his quest. He was coming around a patch of grass in the middle of the courtyard when he caught sight of his brother.

Since he had started at Hogwarts, Tobias had honoured Will Greengrass's appeal that they share no contact during school hours. After all, considering that Will had been Sorted into Ravenclaw, and that Tobias was the one who bore the greater resemblance to their father, it seemed only fair that - at the expense of an unquestionable ally in the school - Will might choose to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

But seeing the crowd of first-year boys standing around Will - seeing how they upended the contents of his schoolbag onto the grass, then laughed as he scrabbled among the stalks to pick them up again - seeing how Will joined in the laughter with all appearance of good nature - while all around them students continued their conversations, unconcerned - Tobias Greengrass felt his blood boil.

He threw down his own plate and marched into the circle, seizing the nearest boy by the collar.

"What's this about, then?"

"Toby," Will Greengrass said, with a note of warning in his voice as he straightened up, brushing the stalks from his clothes.

"Well?" Tobias looked into the narrow face of the Ravenclaw boy opposite him.

"I'm guessing you haven't read the papers this morning, Greengrass," the boy responded, and one of his companions sniggered; they had fallen silent on Tobias's interruption, and now regarded the new arrival with undisguised hostility.

"Toby - let him go," Will repeated, with new firmness, and his brother finally relented. The Ravenclaw boy stumbled back, put a hand to his collar with an expression of distaste, and then seized a copy of the Prophet off one of the other boys.

"Your brother doesn't seem to know what's going on in the world, Greengrass. Maybe you should enlighten him."

"Come on, Charlie," Will Greengrass said, with a laugh that sounded forced. "Leave it out."

The Ravenclaw boy - whom Tobias now recognised as the Headmaster's youngest son, Charlie Broadmoor - paid his classmate no heed, as he held out the newspaper so everyone could see. "What do you think killed Lysander Scamander?"

"I don't know," Tobias said, only affording the photograph on the front page a brief glance before he turned away.

Broadmoor took the paper back and pointed at the article itself. "A cursed potion that strips someone of all their magic." At Tobias's blank look. "Don't you remember what happened to James Potter?"

Tobias felt his stomach drop, though he kept his face neutral. Now he knew where Broadmoor was going with this. "Charlie." One of the other Ravenclaw boys this time. "Don't…"

"When James Potter was murdered by your mother," Broadmoor continued, folding the newspaper up and never dropping his stare from Tobias's, "they found his body, and he had no magic left."

Tobias stared at Broadmoor, his breath rising and falling more rapidly with every second. Around them, the crowds of students seemed to be dispersing, and the small group drew the eye of several passersby making their way back into the castle. He took a step forward. "Theodore Nott was the one who killed James Potter."

"You like to believe that, do you, Greengrass?"

"It's the truth," Tobias said shortly, and then took Will's arm. His brother struggled in his grip. "Come on, let's go."

"Even if it was Nott," Charlie Broadmoor called after them, "Your mother helped, didn't she? She was shagging him, wasn't she?"

Tobias Greengrass stopped in his tracks, but it was Will who turned first, drawing his wand. Of course, that was also the precise moment that Hugo Weasley chose to push into the circle. He was out of breath and flushed. "What's going on here?"

No one spoke. Weasley's gaze swept from Will, who still had his wand out, hand shaking now, to Charlie Broadmoor, whose face was frozen in a look of shock. Then he stepped forward, seized up the Daily Prophet, and the colour drained from his face.

It had not come as a surprise to Tobias. Aunt Tori had a friend in The Prophet, and she had sent him a note early that morning warning that there was new speculation about the Scamander case, and his mother's face might appear in the papers. But he could see now, looking at Hugo Weasley's astounded expression, that he had not been in the know.

"Charlie, you and your mates better move along," he said at last, as the distant sound of the bell rang through the open doors from the clocktower. Broadmoor and his friends did not need to be told twice; they scuttled off, and Hugo Weasley crumpled up the paper. Without looking up, he said shortly, "Five points from Ravenclaw."

"They outnumbered him three to one!" Tobias protested, while Will squirmed.

"Who had their wand out?" Hugo looked up, and the expression in his eyes took Tobias aback: they were dark with loathing. His mouth tight, he bit out, "Don't argue with me, Greengrass. Or I'll deduct points from Slytherin, too."

"Toby, leave it," Will said, tugging at his brother's arm.

"He's only eleven," Tobias said, without dropping his gaze from Hugo's.

"James was only seventeen." Something curved Hugo Weasley's mouth as he stared levelly at Tobias; it wrinkled in disgust. Then he threw down the paper, and stepped away at a quick stride, his fists clenched at his sides, almost as though he had been hoping to make use of them.

Will seized up his rucksack, which sat open on the grass, stuffed the paper inside and then moved off. Tobias, following after, called, "You should have told me those little pricks were bothering you."

"They're my friends," Will threw over his shoulder.

Tobias snorted. "Some friends."

Will Greengrass swung around to face him fully as they neared the door into the castle, his nostrils flared. "Toby. You said you'd leave me alone in school. You said - "

"I know, I know. But we're family, Will, and Broadmoor - what he said about Mum..."

"It's none of your business," Will said. "I'll deal with Charlie." Slinging the straps of his rucksack over his shoulder, "You stay out of it."

* * *

Scorpius Malfoy looked across the Thames as they walked up the South Bank.

It had never struck him as odd before, but now he could not help noticing it: the mixture of old and new in the London skyline. Wasn't it strange that a building like St Paul's Cathedral, which had been there for centuries, should share the horizon with those otherworldly blue skyscrapers? _They_ were feats of modern Muggle engineering, while it was… a relic. If not for the millions of pounds made from tourism every year, Scorpius wondered, would places like St Paul's be there at all? Then again, would London be London without them?

"We'll go across the Millennium Bridge." Albus Potter's voice broke into his reverie, pointing towards the slender, winged bridge arcing over the river ahead of them. "It'll be quicker."

Scorpius made a noise of assent, as they passed a stall selling overpriced kebabs and fish and chips. It struck him that he had not eaten anything that day; strangely, as the strong scent of vinegar and spices reached his nostrils, he found that he was not hungry. They had walked all the way from Elephant and Castle, but he did not feel fatigued, either. He was not even that surprised that the lead Albus had been so eager to chase down had come to nothing. The wizard, who worked as a security guard in the Imperial War Museum, had stood them up.

"There's just one thing I don't understand," he said at last.

"And what's that?" Albus looked inquiringly at him, as the thatched roof of Shakespeare's Globe Theatre rose up ahead of them.

"Why wait until the right moment?" Scorpius chewed his lip. "All this meeting this and that contact, gathering information about the Resurrection Stone..." He lowered his voice at Albus's warning look, just as two chatting businessmen passed them out on the path. "... why not just retrieve it from the Forest now? We have the map; we know where it is."

Albus was silent for a moment. The sound of a bugle pierced through the air, and they both glanced towards the Globe Theatre, where a crowd of Muggles were gathering by the doors, above which a large banner reading _King Lear_ hung.

"Well, since Hugo's refused to stick his neck out and help us…"

"I'm not talking about Hugo. I mean why wait - " Scorpius gestured with his hands, "until this lunar eclipse, or whatever it is."

"You're the astronomer here, not me."

"Albus." Scorpius rounded to face his companion just as they reached the steps leading to Millenium Bridge. A group of American tourists who had been walking behind halted uncertainly, then manoeuvred their way around them. "What are you not telling me?"

"We need to root out whoever it is," Albus said reluctantly. He took off his glasses and gave them an unnecessary wipe. Scorpius noted how small his green eyes looked without them; how much deeper the dark shadows beneath appeared. "Who's been sneaking into the Forbidden Forest to use the Stone."

"Why?"

"Because…" A crease had appeared behind Albus's eyebrows. He reached up with one hand, massaging the spot as though it pained him. "Because the Stone might be bonded to its current owner, and if so, then it'll be of no use to us."

Scorpius tilted his head. "But _I_ thought we weren't planning on using it anyway. Just putting it out of action."

A shriek from the American tourists up ahead, and both wizards' heads snapped up. Every muscle of their bodies was suddenly tense, ready to jump into action. But in the next moment, as the crowds of pedestrians doubled back on the path, hurrying past them, they saw what it was: the sun had soared behind clouds in the few minutes that they had been talking, and squalls of rain were whirling down from the sky. Scorpius and Albus, swept along with the rest of the retreating crowd, found themselves sheltering under the shoulder of the Millennium Bridge.

Londoners exchanged self-deprecating smiles with one another, under-dressed tourists clutched themselves and shivered, while teenagers swept their phones around in a circle as they recorded the sudden shift in weather. Scorpius, fascinated, watched it all. St Paul's and its neighbouring skyscrapers were no more than dim outlines now, blotted out by the washes of grey; the waters of the Thames slapped angrily against the far bank, and a clap of thunder sounded overhead. A few inches to the left, and he would be soaked through.

It made him think of something Rose had said once, an immeasurable time ago. _A little wet never killed anyone, Malfoy_. He smiled. Her voice had been filled with scorn; of course, that had been back when they were still enemies. So much had changed since then. His smile faded.

"I don't plan on using it." Albus's voice made him jump; he had almost forgotten his friend was there. "The Stone. But if someone else does, we need to find out who it is. And the only way to do that is to wait until the time is right: wait until they strike again."

Scorpius Malfoy did not question this. He nodded, and as the rain eased off and the sun appeared once more, shining on the wet streets of London as though rewarding them for not fleeing the city altogether, as they made their way across the river and into St Paul's Underground Station, as they rattled through dark tunnels, neither of them spoke.

" _Next stop, Tottenham Court Road. Change here for Northern and Central lines,_ " the automatic woman's voice informed them, and Albus Potter glanced at Scorpius in surprise as he unfolded himself from his seat.

"You're not coming back to Grimmauld Place?"

"No," Scorpius said slowly, as the train slowed to a halt and passengers pushed past him with their bags. "I've got to see Rose."

* * *

"What's that _smell_?" Emory Goldstein demanded as he entered the third-year Slytherin boys' dormitory on Monday morning. His nose wrinkled, and in disgust he unwound his green and silver scarf and tossed it onto the nearest bed.

"Probably Dearborn's socks," Tobias Greengrass said lazily. He was stretched on his front, quill in his mouth, the scattered pages of his Transfiguration assignment open before him, to which he added a solitary word at five minute intervals. "You know he only washes them once a year."

A sound of faint protest emanated from the open door of the bathroom, which both boys ignored. Emory knelt by his dresser and started rummaging in the drawers, grimacing all the while. "My bloody Potions book - honestly, what _is_ that? It's foul - has anyone seen it?"

"Oh yeah, sorry, I borrowed it." Tobias leapt up from his bed, scattering quill and parchment in the process, and lifted the bedspread of his four-poster. Emory was glaring accusation at him from across the room.

" _Borrowed_ it?"

"I was in a tight spot - honestly, mate, I have it right..." Tobias stopped dead as his hands, groping under the dark depths of his bed, touched something hairy. He paused, then began to draw it out. The smell Emory had spoken of struck him now in its full force, and his roommate, coming around to his side, cursed colourfully as he saw what lay there.

"What twisted bastard - honestly, Greengrass..."

Tobias was silent and still. He just stared at the dead cat that lay stretched out beside his bed, its glassy eyes frozen, black fur stiff. The smell washed over him, invading his nostrils, but even as he coughed and gagged, he found that he could not move from the spot.

"How long has that been there?" was the question of Smelly-Socks Dearborn when he emerged from the bathroom, but neither boy knew the answer.

Tobias Greengrass only knew what it meant: what message it sent. He knew it very well. His father's Animagus form had not been known to many - but he was sure he could think of a few students in the school who would have been aware of it.

* * *

" _Double, double, toil and trouble;_

 _Fire burn and cauldron bubble_

 _Double, double, toil and trouble,_

 _Something wicked this way comes!_ "

Applause rang out across the Great Hall as the school choir took a bow. Nearly Headless Nick was among the most eager in his clapping, and as the student who had led the singing took her seat at the Gryffindor table, congratulated her heartily. Alice Longbottom blushed with appropriate humility, and reserved a self-conscious smile for Hugo.

"Mr Shirley made us do it," she explained as they were making their way to their first class. Behind them, the corridors were thronged with students coming from breakfast. Maven Tomgallon, the caretaker, had been preparing the castle all weekend, with the help of Madam Bulstrode: skeletons decorated the hall, magnificent cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and every torch gleamed a lurid red. "The choir always sings it at Hallowe'en."

"I liked it," Hugo laughed. "Very festive."

"I don't even know what it means," Alice persisted, with a laugh. "Mr Shirley said it was from the Scottish play, whatever that is." At that moment, a student brushed past them in the corridor who very much resembled her cousin Daisy Abbott, and who ejected a sigh that sounded very much like, " _Macbeth_." Had either Hugo or Alice been paying more attention, they would have attributed the interruption to its proper source, but as it was, Daisy was disappeared before they had properly registered her presence.

"I don't know why you bother with this stuff," Hugo said as they rounded a corner on the first-floor corridor, and the smell of herbs drifted towards them. Alice turned, eyebrows raised, and he waved a hand. "Music Club, and all that. You'd be better suited to Quidditch."

"Do you think so?" She seemed to soften as she gazed at him, and Hugo suddenly had the feeling that he had gone too far. He looked straight ahead, and cleared his throat. Alice laughed again. "Your problem is that you've no imagination, Hugo Weasley."

He was spared the trouble of answering that charge when his companion, spotting the Divination teacher up ahead, hailed him with enthusiasm. "Professor Firenze! Does everyone have to bring their own scrying mirror to class tomorrow?"

The centaur turned slowly, his blue eyes passing right over Alice Longbottom and landing on Hugo instead. "Mr Weasley. A word?"

"Sure," Hugo said distractedly. He followed the centaur into his classroom, reasoning to himself that, though he had not the faintest idea of what this conference might consist, it would be better than trying to think of what to say to Alice Longbottom. Looking back once, he saw the door close on her curious face.

The Divination classroom was not a sea of stars, as it had been when Hugo had seen it before; but it was not in what one might call a regular state either. The smell of burning herbs was more overpowering than it had been in the corridor, and instead of desks and tables, the room was wrapped in a thick, fragrant smoke. Firenze, leading the way in, parted the smoke before them as though it were a mere cobweb, revealing a low cauldron that looked as though it had been fashioned from wood.

Leaning down, the broad muscles in his back bunching as he did so, the Divination professor began to utter some kind of guttural chant, and more smoke billowed from the cauldron.

The hairs stood up on the back of Hugo's neck. "Er - sir - " he managed to get out in between his coughs, "I have... a lot of study, maybe I should go - "

Without breaking his chant, Firenze held up a hand, and that gesture alone was command in itself. Hugo felt himself rooted to the spot as surely as though he had been placed under a freezing charm. The smoke thickened around him.

"Sage and mallowsweet," the centaur announced, and Hugo gave to a start to hear him speaking normally again. "When burned together... at the right time... in the right way... they can allow us to look ahead." A pause, then, "What do you see, Mr Weasley?"

"Nothing," Hugo said straight away, but this was met with only silence. He was on the point of further arguing his ignorance when he found that in fact he _could_ see things... as the smoke formed itself into shapes before him. "Hang on - are those trees?"

"And what do you see among them?" inquired Firenze's quiet voice; it struck Hugo that he could not see the Divination professor anymore, but it was only a passing thought, for he was now fully absorbed in the scene forming in the smoke before him.

"Running... no, _galloping_." Hugo considered for a moment more, then, as the smoke rippled and the scene changed. "They're centaurs, like you, sir."

"And what else?" Firenze persisted.

It was then that a cold swept over the room, scattering the smoke: suddenly there were shadows darting everywhere. Out of pure instinct, Hugo threw his hands over his head, dropping to his knees. He heard a high whistling, like screaming - and then a hand touched his shoulder.

"I am sorry."

The room was restored to its original form when Hugo looked up, breathing hard, to find the centaur standing beside him. "I am so sorry you had to endure those things, even for a moment. But now you have seen what I beheld this morning; now you know the dangers of the Forbidden Forest."

"What dangers?" Hugo demanded. "What _were_ those things?"

Firenze gazed solemnly down into his face. "I have found no name for them yet." As Hugo let out his breath, "But you came to me some weeks ago talking of a disturbance in the Forest... and the Resurrection Stone. Is that not right?"

"Yeah." Hugo's brow creased. "But that was - nothing."

"So you do not mean to go into the Forest?"

Hugo's head shot up. Defensively, "Of course not!"

"And you know of no one who might mean to?"

"No - oh." _Albus._ "Damn it."

"It appears I was mistaken," Firenze went on, after they had both been silent for a moment, Hugo still kneeling, staring fixedly at the opposite wall as though he still expected to see shapes take form there. "When I spoke to you of lunar eclipses and the alignment of planets, I thought myself correct in placing their powers so high... but it emerges that these creatures who dwell in the Forest, who are driving out my kindred - are beyond even celestial government."

"How can that be possible?" Hugo raised his eyes, but the Divination professor did not meet his gaze; he had crossed the classroom, and was replacing the wooden cauldron behind his desk.

"I can think of only one explanation. They are forces unnatural to this world."

The finality in his tones told Hugo the meeting was over, and while a few minutes ago he might have jumped at the opportunity to take his leave, now he found himself reluctant to go with so little information. Rising to his feet, "What do you mean, unnatural? What else have you seen?"

"I have warned you," Firenze pronounced, "of what lies in the Forest. I have done my duty as a professor of this school." Turning, he fixed Hugo with a steely-eyed gaze. "Now it is your turn. You must keep those around you safe. You must not go into the Forest."

* * *

Rose Weasley looked up from her book at the sound of Scorpius's footsteps. She was perched in the bow window halfway up the staircase: a spot he had never favoured growing up, since it could be seen from the front door of the townhouse - and therefore had not been ideal for avoiding Aunt Daphne and other such relatives.

That last thought was followed by a familiar pang of recognition; Scorpius cast both away, and focused instead on how beautiful Rose looked this morning. Her face was fresh, her red hair gleaming faintly, and she had that adorable crinkle in her brow that always came when she was interrupted in the middle of something important. "You're back early. I thought you were with Albus for the day."

"I had to see you." Scorpius halted a few steps up, folding his leather jacket over his arm. "Alderton's not here today?"

Something in Rose's face closed off; it startled him a little to see it. "He had important business."

"Right. Well…" Scorpius cleared his throat. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you about for a while."

"About what you and Albus have been plotting." Her voice was flat. She moved to put her book down, turning it so that the spine faced away from him. Scorpius didn't know why he noticed that.

"Y-yes. He doesn't want anyone to know about it yet, but keeping it from you…" He heaved a sigh. "Hasn't been easy. And to tell the truth, Rose, I'm worried."

"Worried?" She was watching him quietly; for someone who had been a scholar in the many moods of Rose Weasley for the past two years, Scorpius found her expression now strangely hard to read.

"About Albus," he clarified. "I'm worried that he might do something…" He paused as Rose shifted in her seat so that the book was now completely concealed behind her. "What - I'm sorry. What _is_ that?"

"What?" Her expression was too blank now, her eyes too innocent as she looked back at him. When he started forward, she shrank away. "It's nothing."

"Then let me see." Scorpius reached out a hand, and as she put hers behind her back, he sighed. "Rose, come on. We're not in school anymore, are we?"

Her blue eyes locked onto his, seemed to almost tremble for a moment. "No," she agreed. "We're not." And she handed him the book.

Scorpius took it, turned it over; he recognised the sleek, black cover with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was one of his father's vault books. "Did you take this from his study?"

"There's a lot," Rose began, haltingly, "that Geoffrey and I have found out recently. I told you about Nott's Hand of Glory turning up in Alexandria - well, there've been some other things, too. Things…"

"Why didn't you ask me?"

"What?"

Scorpius looked up from the book, which he now clutched to his chest, almost protectively. His grey eyes found Rose's, wide and surprised. "I would have given it to you. Let you look at anything you wanted."

"I know you don't like talking about him." Rose's voice was low, gentle. She reached for the book, but Scorpius did not budge. "If you just let me - show you… there's a vault check form, that we think your father must have magically altered. Back when he was working for the Truthseekers, you know." Her hand stretched out again, towards him. "See, I can show you…"

Scorpius turned and cast the book behind him, down the steps. It sailed through the air, struck the wall of the hall and fell with a smack to the tiled floor, loose papers spilling out.

Rose was on her feet when he looked back at her, two spots of colour in her cheeks. "Who's behaving like a schoolchild now?"

"Whatever it is," Scorpius said, "Whatever he did, it can't matter now."

"It _does_." Her voice rose. "Scorpius, your father broke into Gringotts for the Truthseekers to steal something - something of value. That was the task Zabini made him perform." A pause. "I don't know why you never told me, but…"

Scorpius's head was spinning. He jerked backwards, and pain shot through his left ankle as he landed badly on the step below. "I didn't know."

Rose cursed softly. "He didn't tell you?"

"No." Scorpius's tongue felt heavy in his mouth.

"But you have been keeping things from me." She said this almost defiantly, but the slight tremor in her voice gave her away; she was trying to excuse herself.

"I was going to tell you." Scorpius looked past her. "I was going to tell you everything."

She surged forward, coming towards him. "Then do. Tell me."

He shook his head, and moved back another step. Then he turned abruptly, and strode down into the hall, across to the door of his father's study. He wrenched it open - some strange force possessing his limbs now - and went to the desk.

"Scorpius…"

"You want clues?" He turned, smiling, and lifted a vault book off the desk, letting it drop to the floor. _Thump_. "There's one." _Thump_. "Another."

"Scorpius, stop!"

She sounded distant now. Scorpius opened the top drawer of his father's desk, lifted the false back, and took out the cloth-wrapped object. "He showed me this on the night before he left for Azkaban. I suppose this must be what he stole…" He unwound the cloth, threw it away, and the jagged pieces of red metal fell into his hands.

"Scorpius, you're bleeding!" Rose ran for him, but he shrank from her touch, passing her in the doorway and dropping the pieces as he went. They made a strange _clink_ on the floor as they fell, one by one. He looked down at his hand, which was indeed gushing blood, though he hadn't felt anything.

"If you need any more clues," he said - his voice sounded slow, languid to his own ears. "Do let me know."

"Scorpius," she cried again, but he kept walking - stepped over the papers in the hall, put on his jacket and opened the front door. The cool air outside was a relief; the green of the square seemed to blur before his eyes for a moment.

" _Scorpius_!"

* * *

"You don't have them," Neville Longbottom repeated in disbelief, as he stood before Daisy Abbott's desk at the back of the greenhouse. The rest of the Herbology class was silent, listening. He sighed, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "Daisy, I've been reminding you all every day for the past fortnight. Sopophorous beans are extremely rare, so you have to order them well in advance."

Daisy shifted in her seat, and hated the sound of her own voice as she mumbled, "I'm sorry, I forgot."

"Well, you'll just have to work with your partner's today." Neville turned his back to her, and Daisy cast a dubious glance at the glowering Tracy Towers, who sat on her other side. As he moved away, her uncle added, "See if Alice has some spare beans left over from last year. I'm sure she'd be happy to give them to you." Clearing his throat, "Now, remember, everyone, we can't harvest these beans until they've been fertilised by Mooncalf Dung..."

The prospect of approaching her cousin was not a pleasant one to Daisy, and it hung over her for the duration of the class. What made matters worse was that she had been so resolved on making the most of the day. It had been an indifferent weekend; and the morning, bringing with it yet another triumph of her cousin's, had not seemed much more promising, but all the same, Daisy had really tried today.

Now, as they cut Sopophorous beans, examined their contents and took diligent notes, her spirits drooped, to the extent that her unforgiving neighbour Tracy Towers began to take pity on her. She even offered to accompany her on her petition to Alice Longbottom, and Daisy was on the point of accepting when, stepping out of the greenhouse, they came face to face with Tobias Greengrass.

With little ceremony, the Slytherin took hold of Daisy's arm and steered her away from the rest of the class. "Come with me."

"What are you doing?" Daisy demanded, with a glance back at her classmates, who were muttering amongst themselves.

"I need your help." Calmly, Tobias turned to survey her. "You've gone red. Ooh, did I embarrass you in front of your Hufflepuff friends?"

"No," Daisy replied, but she was too well aware of the stares directed at her back to sound altogether convincing. "I'm just confused."

"So am I." Tobias let go of her arm and strode on ahead, up the rising ground towards the castle. Daisy stayed where she was for a moment, as the wind whipped strands of blonde hair in her face, and looked back over the blue lake, the forest and the mountains beyond, rising in the sky like the neat triangles of a child's drawing. Then she heard her companion call back, "Come on, get a move on!"

"Maybe if you told me what this is about," Daisy grumbled, hurrying to catch up with Tobias. She pulled up, surprised. "Why are you going that way?"

Tobias Greengrass looked back at her, one leg over the stile, and raised his eyebrows. "Are you coming or not?"

Daisy had only been in the memorial garden a handful of times since she had met Tobias here that first day; some part of her felt she did not have a right to it. But she had forgotten the sheer greenness of it all; the pools and streams were rainbows of colour, and all around was the twittering of birds, the croaking of toads and the buzz of insects.

"I asked Lucinda to come, too," Tobias said abruptly. Daisy glanced sidelong at him. He wore an expression of determined nonchalance. "She wouldn't. Said she doesn't want to see me anymore."

"Oh, Tobias…" Daisy said, unsure of what else to say. She reached out a hand, but as before - as always - he brushed it away.

"I understand. Lysander was her brother." A pause, then, with renewed force, "But I know Mum had nothing to do with it."

They crossed a small footbridge, and Daisy glanced down at her wavering reflection in the water below. "It'll blow over."

Tobias turned, and raised his eyebrows at her. "I wouldn't be so sure." He led her around another corner in the path, and then stopped, with a sweeping gesture. Where the sapling in honour of Blaise Zabini had stood before, there was now a blackened stump.

Daisy put a hand to her mouth. "Who - "

"I have a pretty good idea." Tobias kicked at the dead leaves, then met her gaze again. "And that's not all they've done."

* * *

Albus Potter was not in the habit of showing up to work on his days off.

Being of a disposition more inclined to quiet and solitude than the average person - his cousin Hugo, for instance - he ordinarily savoured any chance to escape from the chaos that was Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The bedroom on the top floor of the Potters' house in Islington, that had once belonged to Regulus Black, was a quiet retreat for him, where he could read, reflect and write.

But recently he was getting more days off from work. Not that he had asked for them; indeed, it was the busiest time of the year for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. But his uncle had taken on more staff, and, on top of that, he had developed a rather irritating habit of constantly checking up on Albus those days that he was working - almost as though he were worried about him.

It had been like that for a time after James had - after _that_. But Albus expected people to have moved on by now, and to have shaken off their concerns about how he was handling things. He was surviving, and that was the main thing, wasn't it?

In any case, on that particular Monday, after parting ways with Scorpius, he found the ticking clock in Grimmauld Place too much for him, and so he bent his steps for Diagon Alley, without much of an idea where he was going.

Car horns blared and motors growled as Albus Potter crossed the road at Charing Cross. He drifted through the Leaky Cauldron without seeing anyone he recognised. Tapping the bricks in sequence, he moved on down the cobbled streets.

Someone caught up with him as he was passing under a crumbling stone archway. It was Rose, her red hair dishevelled, eyes too wide in her face as they searched his. "Albus! I've been behind you all the way from Charing Cross… I must have called your name about ten times!"

"I didn't hear anything," he said blandly as he looked at her.

"I need to talk to you."

"All right." Albus stepped out from under the archway, blinking at the musty light, and continued down the narrow lane towards Knockturn Alley. The _click click_ a little way behind told him Rose was still following. Faces peered out at them from grimy windows: on one corner they passed a wizard haggling with a merchant over a box of Shrivelfig.

Rose was talking. Spouting something about Draco Malfoy and a vault in Gringotts... Her voice floated into Albus's consciousness without making much of a dent on it. It was a mild irritation: the distant buzz of a wasp. Then the buzz was right in his ear as she grabbed his arm, actually dragging him into a doorway.

"You're not listening to me. We had a fight, Scorpius and I, and before he walked out, he showed me…" She scrabbled in her pocket, drew out a bulky shape wrapped in a handkerchief, and held it out. "This."

"What is it?" Albus eyed it with vague curiosity.

"A broken Remembrall," Rose said levelly. "He says his father showed it to him the night before he left for prison. It must have been important. It must have been what he stole…" Carefully, she unwrapped the handkerchief, and the jagged pieces of red metal gleamed in the sun. Albus leaned in to look, and then he stopped short.

"No. Merlin, no."

"What?" Her voice was hushed.

He felt awake now - wide awake. With a shaking finger, Albus pointed, to the small triangle that had been etched on one of the pieces. "The Deathly Hallows."

"How did I miss that?" Rose gasped. "What does it mean?"

Albus was walking again. The movement helped; for his mind had gone into overdrive as he tried to think it all out. Draco Malfoy had stolen something from Gringotts, as Rose had said… something with the sign of the Deathly Hallows on it… something that would have been big enough to contain -

"It isn't in the Forest," he said aloud.

"What? What isn't in the Forest?"

"The Stone."

"What Stone? Albus, what are you talking about?"

* * *

"Do you know anything about Sopophorous beans?"

"Sopo - what?" Hugo Weasley looked up from the round table, frowning. Daisy Abbott shrugged her shoulders, then turned back to the bookshelf, resuming her perusal of the spines. "Never mind."

It was busier than usual in the library that evening, so they had been forced to trade their alcove for a table by the Herbology section. The change was fortunate for Daisy, though she did not hold out much hope of finding any information that would help her obtain Sopophorous beans by tomorrow.

To ask Alice, of course, was the obvious step; the one recommended by her uncle, but also, the most unbearable. Daisy grimaced as she drew out a book entitled _Rare Plants of Scotland_ , and nearly buckled under its unexpected weight.

"Are you going to sit down any time soon?" Hugo said impatiently, and looking around, she found him still studying the same piece of parchment to which he had been so glued since she had arrived. "We've got a lot of work to do."

Daisy nodded quickly, and hauling the book over to the table, set it down. A cloud of dust rose from the pages, and Hugo looked up in faint disapproval. He put away the piece of parchment, but not before Daisy's curious eyes could discern that it was a map of some sort.

"Right, so, where did we leave off last time?" He rummaged in his bag, drawing out his Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook. "The history of combat spells, was it?"

"I think so," Daisy said vaguely. "Just give me a second." She opened the Herbology book on the glossary. Her fingers traced the letters - S, S... Scurvy Grass, Sea Lavender, Snarfalump...

The touch of Hugo's hand, stopping hers, wrenched her out of the book and back to the present. She looked up, eyes wide, but he did not meet her gaze; frowning, he was turning over her small hand in his, examining the soil caked under her nails. "What have you been doing all day, digging for Dung Beetles? Is that why you were late?"

Daisy blushed deeply. "No, I was... helping out a friend." She and Tobias had spent the last few hours clearing the ground around his father's destroyed sapling in the memorial garden. He had used magic, she her bare hands, and the patch of grass was now clear to be replanted.

"It _couldn't_ have been him," she had insisted to Tobias, over and over, as they worked.

"Then who else do you suggest?" Tobias Greengrass frowned over a rotten piece of bark, then tossed it aside. "Who else hates my family so much that they'd want to get back at me like that?"

"That Broadmoor bloke, maybe?" Daisy suggested weakly. "The one who was giving your brother a hard time…"

"Who else," Tobias amended, with emphasis, "who has access to this place?" He gestured to the trees, the hedges and flowers around them. "Charlie Broadmoor hasn't lost anyone. Hugo Weasley has."

"It just doesn't seem…" Daisy screwed up her face against the strong sunlight overhead. "If you've lost someone, why would you want to destroy someone else's memorial to their loved one? It just doesn't seem right."

"It _isn't_ right." Tobias threw up his hands in exasperation. "Look, I know you fancy him or whatever..."

"I _don't_ \- "

"... but Hugo Weasley isn't this Quidditch hero like everyone makes out. He's not a good bloke, Daisy." Tobias looked at her intently. "You know that he racked up more detentions than even me last year? And he's still prefect, well on the track to being Head Boy. Tell me how that's fair."

"He was - grieving," Daisy said tentatively.

"Grief." Tobias laughed. "So that gives us an excuse for everything, does it? Merlin, I really should play the grief card more often, then."

Daisy had not quite known what to say to that. Sometimes, there was a bitterness in Tobias that bubbled to the surface and left her feeling as though she were talking to a stranger. She didn't know anyone else who could change so rapidly as that - not even Hugo, she mused now as she met her mentor's questioning gaze. And came to the conclusion, once again, that it couldn't have been him.

Hugo dropped her hand. "You're a strange one, Abbott." Shaking his head, with the faintest of smiles, "Come on, we'd better get started."

What followed was possibly the most confusing session Daisy had shared with him yet. Hugo jumbled his words, set her exercises they had already gone over and then lost his temper when she pointed this out, and finally left her to write a piece on Animagi regulations. She looked up from her parchment more than once to catch him staring towards the door of the library, chewing on a thumbnail.

"Is there somewhere you need to be?" she heard herself ask, and his eyes flicked back to her, surprised.

"What? No," he replied, too quickly. "Get back to work."

Daisy bent her head over her parchment once more, but found she could make no sense of what she had just written. She looked up again, to see Hugo still gazing towards the door. "It's just, you seem… distracted."

Hugo gave another start, then ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, sorry. I'm just tired."

"Late night?"

"No, I was up early. Had… things to do."

Daisy raised her eyebrows. She knew how Tobias would interpret that. But he was wrong, she told herself, and returned her focus to her parchment. "Do you want me to read out what I've written so far?"

"Yeah." With a visible effort, Hugo dragged his gaze from the door. "Go on."

Mr Shirley was dousing the lights when they left the library. He cast a ghoulish figure, standing there in the midst of the deserted stacks with his wand held aloft. Daisy looked back at him until the door closed.

"You're late today." Alice Longbottom was waiting in the corridor, her ankles crossed and a folder pressed to her chest, the smile on her face for Hugo alone.

"We had a lot to cover," Hugo said, by way of explanation, and it seemed to satisfy Alice.

"Of course." Her blue-grey eyes flickered to Daisy, as though only now noting her presence, and then back to Hugo. "Well - shall we?"

He gave his acquiescence, and the two fell into step together. Daisy stayed where she was, by the door of the library, clutching her books. Tobias might not have believed Hugo's behaviour to have such an innocent cause, but for Daisy, it made perfect sense: his distraction had stemmed from his impatience to see Alice.

She should have known.

"See you around, Abbott," Hugo was calling back to her in farewell, and then Alice turned back, as though something had just occurred to her.

"Oh - yes, Dad was telling me you needed to borrow something." Her pretty brow wrinkled as she tried to remember. "Sophophorous beans? Did you forget to order them?" Taking her cousin's silence as confirmation, she clucked her tongue. "Oh, Daisy."

The heat in Daisy's cheeks had spread to the rest of her: she felt hot all over.

"Come up to Gryffindor Tower tomorrow morning before breakfast, and I'll have them for you," Alice went on. Beside her, Hugo was looking at Daisy, too, and there was a tolerant smile on his face which she could bear almost as little as the cloying command of Alice's tone.

So it was that she heard herself say, "No." The word echoed through the corridor, followed by a hasty, "Thank you. I have my own."

Alice raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Daisy said firmly, even as she mentally kicked herself. "But thanks anyway." She forced a smile, and watched the retreating figures of Alice Longbottom and Hugo Weasley until they had rounded the corner of the corridor. Then, turning back to the library door, she began to knock on the door with a frantic energy that surprised even herself.

"Mr Shirley! Mr Shirley, are you closed yet? I need to borrow a book."

* * *

The windows were clouded with condensation. Rose Weasley's warm breath dissolved it for a few seconds, and she looked through the gap. She was not sure what she expected to see; below, the streets of Knockturn Alley were empty, broken only by a stray wizard here and there, bobbing through the rain and into dry cover.

Albus Potter sat at the other end of the table, hunched over the piece of broken Remembrall. He kept turning it over and over in his hands, ignoring Rose's warnings to be careful; he had already cut himself on a jagged end, too, but that, apparently, did not signify. Leaning away from the window as it fogged over once more, she watched him as he brought the piece of metal close to his eye, so that it was reflected in his spectacles.

"I still don't understand," she ventured at last. They were alone in the parlour, a dingy backroom to a tavern she had never seen before: the White Wyvern, but for whose existence she was grateful, as it had saved them from the squall. "Didn't the map show that the Resurrection Stone was in the Forbidden Forest?"

A flicker of impatience in her cousin's face. Then, setting down the metal, he said, "It was drawn over twenty years ago. Anything could have happened to it since then." Rubbing the bridge of his nose, "We should have known."

Rose nodded slowly. "So this is what you were up to. All this time."

"Scorpius wanted to tell you." Albus reached for the glass of Firewhiskey he'd ordered, then, put his hand down again, as though he had changed his mind. Rose, chilled from their dash in the rain, had already drunk most of hers. "I wouldn't let him."

Silence, except for faint laughter from the main tavern and the steady sluice of rain outside the windows. Rose circled her glass with her thumb and forefinger, then said, "And I'm assuming he was the one who showed you this place. Scorpius." Taking her cousin's lack of response as confirmation, she went on, "Did he ever bring you to the place across from Borgin and Burkes?"

Albus tilted his head. "Where?"

Rose looked down into the amber liquid in her glass. It was an effort to keep her voice steady. All day since her argument with Scorpius, she had been hovering on the brink of some strong, strange emotion, feeling as though she might burst into tears or hex someone at any given moment; both possibilities were as strong as each other. "An old runologist's workshop. We visited there - Scorpius and I - back in sixth year."

She heard Albus's intake of breath, and was grateful that she didn't need to go on. "The hideout where you met Zabini. Where he killed Andromeda."

"Yes." Rose swallowed the rest of her drink, then glanced towards the window again. The patch she had warmed with her breath was fogged over now, but a little smudged still. "It's been abandoned for years, but we might find something there. Some clue about where the Stone is now."

Albus Potter was already rising from his seat, throwing his cloak around his shoulders and fastening it at his neck. "Then let's go." At Rose's raised eyebrows, he added, "Yes, you too. You're a part of this now."

He let her squeeze ahead of him into the crowded tavern, and was about to follow when he caught a flicker of movement in the painting that hung in the corner of the parlour. It had been covered over the last time he had visited here with Scorpius, he recalled, but now he glimpsed its occupant: a running knight, battling with a writhing white creature.

"Albus?"

"Right. Let's go."

They made their way down the old, twisted steps and out into the rain. Albus's Impervius shield snapped into place over their heads, but it did not do much to dispel the cold: the deep, deep cold that seemed to be settling right into Rose's bones. She hurried along as though she could outrun it, past the swinging sign of the White Wyvern and over streaming gutters. The water that ran past their feet was a deep brown, as though the rain was unearthing the deepest filth of Knockturn Alley.

"Do you know where you're going?" Albus's shout behind her was almost carried away into the wind, and Rose simply lifted a frozen hand in response. They were coming close now, she knew by the broken windows and sagging rooftops: it was the sad, forgotten part of Knockturn Alley, where businesses that had flourished in the days of war were no more. The old wizarding families that had once run them had read the writing on the wall: they had borne themselves elsewhere, to dark corners of Europe, where the Statute of Secrecy was a mere suggestion, or to America, where black markets flourished right under the proud nose of M.A.C.U.S.A.

And there it was, the old shopfront of Borgin and Burkes, its broken windows rattling in the wind. Across from it stood the squat, grey building, which looked no more remarkable than any of its neighbours. But a sharp eye could discern more recent signs of occupation: the boarded up windows on the second storey, and the coat of paint on the door. Albus craned his neck to look up at the faded sign as they approached. "Moribund's," he read aloud.

"Yeah, I think that was the name of the runologist who used to work here." Rose did not turn her head.

"It sounds familiar," her cousin said vaguely, but he did not say any more. They pushed their way inside, the rotting door giving way with relative ease, and found themselves in a dank, dusty corridor. Rose felt the intervening years pass away, and she could see Scorpius standing beside her, his back proud and tall, wand held aloft. Was it possible to be nostalgic for such a hideous evening? Back when they had been enemies, when she had thought things so black and white that Andromeda's betrayal had sent her reeling. Now it seemed everything had become so complicated; but she could not possibly wish for such a time again, when she and Scorpius had so carelessly thrown themselves and others in harm's way, and Zabini had so carelessly disposed of a witch whose only crime had been protecting her grandson.

"Look at this," Albus breathed, opening the nearest door and casting his wandlight over the room inside. Fluttering pieces of paper lined the wall, covered with countless symbols and runes. Countertops and stools showed it to be the main workshop, but Rose found herself strangely uninterested as she stepped in after her cousin. She only felt weary now.

Perhaps it was that which prompted her to ask the question that had been on her lips since Albus had told her about the Resurrection Stone. "Why didn't you let Scorpius tell me?"

Ahead of her, her cousin's back stiffened. Slowly, he lowered his wand, and turned to face her. His face was lit strangely from below, the shadows pooling around the hollows of his cheeks and his eyes. "Why didn't you want us to know?" she pressed, at his continued silence. "Any of us?"

Albus wet his lips. "I was worried… that maybe…"

"We'd want to use it? The Stone?"

He looked down. "Lily… and my parents… it'd be hard to resist..."

"But not _me_ ," Rose said pointedly. "Surely you could trust that I would be able to control myself? Or is it that you didn't think I could keep the secret?" Her cousin did not meet her gaze. Her temper rising, "And what makes _you_ immune to the Stone, anyway? You and James were closer than anyone."

She had not meant to say the last piece, but it had slipped out. When Albus looked up again, his eyes were dark lakes of pain behind his glasses. It staggered her, shaking her like a bottle until her emotions threatened to fizz up and over the surface. "Because I know that any shade, any Necromancer's spell, any wizard's poor attempt to recreate life, couldn't come close to replacing James." A pause, a deep breath, then, "Nothing can."

* * *

The memorial garden at sunset was, if possible, even more beautiful than during the daytime, and Tobias Greengrass was surprised to find himself in a state to appreciate that fact. He stepped back to survey his handiwork, rubbing his hands together. The patch of soil looked good as new; though it would be some time before he would see the beginnings of the tree, he was confident that the green shoots would eventually emerge.

The last few hours at work had calmed him. He had been grateful for Daisy's help, but even more grateful when she had left to go to her mentoring session, for working alone had allowed him to gather his thoughts, and consider what needed to be done. The first thing, of course, would be to get proof of Weasley's involvement; all the proof Tobias himself required might have been the look of loathing in Weasley's eyes when he had found him and Will the other day, but he knew that other people would need more to be convinced. Even Daisy, who was something like a friend, had found it difficult to believe, after all.

So he would have to catch Weasley in the act, Tobias reasoned as he made his way back through the garden. He walked slowly, drinking in the scene around him. The pond had become a shining mirror, reflecting back the russets and crimsons and ambers of the brilliant sunset. Not for the first time, Tobias felt an overwhelming gladness that there was such a place; that among all the filth and darkness in the world, one could remember that this garden existed, apart from everything.

It certainly was not as beautiful in the grounds when he stepped outside the bounds of the enchanted garden; the castle rose dull and grey against a plain sky of eggshell blue. Tobias sped up his pace, keeping his head down, and was passing the first greenhouse when he heard quick, approaching footsteps.

He ducked back behind the glass, brushing against a clump of ferns that clung to the wall of the greenhouse, and, at a crouch, watched from their leafy shelter as Hugo Weasley strode past. His cloak billowed behind, and the setting sun cast a red glow on his face. Something within Tobias went cold. So here he was, back for more. Not content with burning his father's sapling, he probably intended on ensuring that nothing grew there ever again. Evidently the present he had left him in his dormitory hadn't been enough, either. Tobias straightened, the ferns snapping around him. Well, Weasley wasn't getting near that garden.

Scattered laughter, running footsteps, hushed voices. Tobias did not have time to conceal himself again when more students stumbled onto the path that wound by the greenhouses, but it was not necessary, in any case; they were too busy nudging one another and sniggering to bother looking about them. Small and puny, in blue and gold ties; he recognised Charlie Broadmoor first, with his narrow, insolent face.

"Where is it anyway, Greengrass?" Broadmoor demanded.

"Just a little way ahead," came the reply, and Tobias's stomach lurched as he saw his little brother push through the other boys. He was grinning, too, like the others, with that same tremulous delight one always saw in those unaccustomed to breaking the rules.

The party disappeared, and Tobias lost no time in following them, Hugo Weasley entirely forgotten now. He watched from a distance as they drew up to the stile. "It's just here," Will said, gesturing ahead, but Broadmoor frowned.

"There's nothing there, just an old wall." He reached out, his hand flattening against thin air, and the other boys nodded their agreement.

"You can wait, then, keep watch," Will said, as he climbed over the stile. "I'll only be a minute."

When he had gone, the other boys broke into murmuring to one another, with the appearance of disappointment. "What's the point if we can't see it?"

Charlie Broadmoor hushed his companions impatiently. "We're supposed to be keeping watch, that's why. Don't want Tomgallon or Bulstrode to catch us, right?"

"Or me," Tobias Greengrass said, stepping forward.

He was not tall, but in that moment, it seemed that he towered over the other boys. They stared up at him, alarm and shame written over their faces. Only Broadmoor made any attempt to meet his gaze, with something like defiance, and even that was quickly dispelled when Tobias said, in a voice low and dangerous, "Get out of here."

Scattered exclamations and running footsteps faded away behind him as the Ravenclaws effected their retreat, and Tobias Greengrass, drawing in a deep breath, climbed over the stile and back into the garden.

Will Greengrass was kneeling right on the patch of soil that had been recently planted, and did not look up straight away as Tobias approached. He had in his hands a jar of bluebell flame, and was struggling to open the lid.

"I'm guessing you had help conjuring that."

"Toby!" The jar flew out of his brother's hands, rolled against the soil. Tobias stopped it with his foot. Will, brushing the soil off his robes, hastily got to his feet. "Toby, it's not..."

"So they _are_ your mates," Tobias observed, very calmly. "Very good mates, it looks like."

"Toby - "

"And what were you planning on burning this time?" Tobias picked up the jar, turned it over in his hands.

"I - don't know," Will said helplessly. "They wanted me to do something - and since I'm the only one who can enter the garden..."

"Bloody _Merlin_!" Tobias threw down the jar; he had been hoping it would make a satisfying smash, but it bounced and rolled; Will dropped down to retrieve it. "Never mind that now! Look at me, Will! _Look at me_!"

Slowly, his brother looked up, flinched at the rage on Tobias's face. "I didn't - it's not..."

"How could you do this to us? To me?" Tobias snapped, gesturing to the tree. "To _him_?"

"But it's him everyone hates." With an effort, Will Greengrass met his brother's gaze and held it. "Dad. Not Mum. _He_ was the Death Eater. She just…"

"Don't talk about stuff you don't understand, Will," Tobias interrupted, holding up a finger. "You don't even remember Dad. You don't know what he was like."

"I don't need to," his brother muttered.

"What's that?" Tobias started towards his brother, fists clenched, and Will rose to his feet.

"I said I don't need to! 'Cause _I_ know what he was. He was a murderer. And you need to learn that too, Toby."

There was a silence, but for the low singing of crickets, unseen among the green around them. Tobias slowly shook his head, looking at his brother, as a bitter smile twisted his features. "So your mates wanted you to prove a point. Teach me a lesson. And you went along with them."

"We didn't kill the cat," Will insisted. "Charlie found it, in the village. It was already dead."

"That's what he told you?"

"He's my friend." Will lifted his chin defiantly. "I believe him."

Tobias Greengrass made a surge forward, but his brother was smaller, and quicker; he ducked around him and scuttled away like a scared rabbit. "Come back here!" His voice echoed around the beautiful, tranquil garden, as he cursed his brother with every foul word that he knew.

* * *

There was a saying that warned against cutting off one's nose to spite one's face. Daisy Abbott had often heard it spoken by teachers at school in London, for it was chiefly a Muggle saying, and she had not yet found its equivalent in the wizarding world; neither had she fully felt the weight of its meaning until now.

Of course, when she had retrieved the book on rare plants from the library and read in it that Sophophorous plants were, in fact, to be found in the Forbidden Forest, she had not been able to believe her luck. From then, it had been easy enough to find a map of the forest; there was one in the very volume Hugo Weasley had been so intently studying before their session. Daisy had made a quick tracing of it, stowing the parchment in her bag, before being ushered out by an agitated Mr Shirley.

Now, however, as Daisy walked through the tangles and thickets of the Forbidden Forest, she found it harder to feel any triumph in her discovery. She had reckoned, crossing the grounds as the sun sank in the sky, that there was a good hour left before it grew fully dark. She had _not_ reckoned with how little light actually penetrated the canopy of leaves and branches above her, and she had to crane her neck and look right up - up, up, before she could discern the lighter shades of grey where the sky lay beyond the rooftop of the forest.

It was colder than she had imagined, too; she pulled up the hood of her white duffel coat and let it settle on the top of her blonde head as she walked. The scent of pine and rotting leaves enveloped her, with its something more: a sense of something ancient, and vast, and sleeping. Daisy felt very small, amongst the tall, vast trees and impenetrable undergrowth.

But there was a path, Daisy reminded herself, and as long as there was a path, she could not be lost. Taking out the tracing of the map once more, she squinted in the dim light to where the clearing had been marked, towards the west of the forest. A rustling sounded very near as she was in the midst of her examination, and she jumped, colliding painfully with a low-hanging branch. A bird flapped out of the bushes a moment later, and Daisy let out a breath, holding a hand to her breast.

"It's all right. It's all right," she told herself, and then, startled at the sound of her own voice, too loud in the silent woods, she hurried onwards on her path.

As the shadows lengthened around her, and the light filtering through the canopy began to wane, Daisy, rather than feeling an increase of terror, began to feel somewhat more at peace. What first she had taken for silence formed into its own constituent sounds: the rustle of the undergrowth, the creak of branches. Her body settled into a rhythm, one foot in front of the other, and it struck her as she went that this was, perhaps, the longest time she had spent by herself since she had started at Hogwarts. Of course, she was often alone back in the castle, but it was different there; someone was always near at hand, ready to burst in on her solitude with a question or remark.

It was only now that she could admit to herself how on edge she had been for the past month. How she seemed always to be waiting for something to go wrong; always expecting the curtain to be drawn back, always ready for the pointed finger and the shocked faces. The gritted teeth, the pounding heart, the clenched fist... they had formed all her experience for the past month.

But there had been little joys, too, and secret delights; she could not pretend otherwise. And she knew that more awaited her: that down the road was excitement and adventure and perhaps, possibly, romance. Of course, it was time to give up on her hopes of Hugo; she had sense enough to realise that. But there were other boys in Hogwarts, weren't there?

So engrossed was she in these reflections that she did not notice straight away how complete the darkness around her had become until, producing the map once more, she was forced to produce her wand in order to read it. A feeble orb of light appeared at its tip on her command; she could summon no more. It did not do much to illuminate the faint tracings before her, but she strained her eyes and managed to find that marked spot.

A fork in the path a little way ahead posed another difficulty, and Daisy, after a moment's deliberation, chose to go right. She was pleased when, minutes later, the trees began to clear around her, and before her stretched a glade, criss-crossed with a stream. The grass was touched with silver, and she looked up to see that the moon was rising above the trees in a pool of light.

Something was moving across the grass. It had little legs, and moved with the nimbleness of a goat; if not for its long neck and abnormally large eyes, Daisy would have taken it for one. But after a moment, she recognised it from a picture she had seen in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ : a Mooncalf. She stood entranced, as it trotted across the grass, dipped its head towards the water of the stream and began to drink.

Her foot cracked a twig; the Mooncalf's head shot up, and it turned to look right at her. In its large, liquid eyes, Daisy saw fear. "Hello," she crooned, holding up her hands as she took a tentative step forward. "It's all right. I won't hurt you."

The Mooncalf chirruped, a low, curious sound, and then, with another toss of its head, began to trot away again. Daisy eased her way forward, hunched over, holding her hand out as though she were calling to a cat. "Come here... it's all right..."

Another chirrup, and her little friend had vanished into the trees once more. Daisy dropped her hand, disappointed, and straightened up.

It was then, perhaps, that it began to dawn on her where she was. In a clearing, in a forest, at night. Her skin prickled. There were strange patterns formed by the branches of the trees that bordered the glade; strange patterns adorned the grass - or was she imagining them? She was cold, and alone, and all around was silence. Dead silence. Not a single creak or rustle disturbed it.

The feeling of dread had come on her so suddenly and powerfully that Daisy Abbott, turning, was actually not surprised to find that there was someone standing a little way behind her.

It was too dark for her to make out any of his features. All she could see was that he was tall and thin, and he stood utterly still among the slender tree-trunks, almost as though he were one of them.

"Who's there?" she called, in as forceful a voice as she could muster.

The man did not move, did not answer. Leaves and branches fluttered in the wind, the moon slipped behind a cloud, and the darkness thickened. Daisy was shaking; she could feel herself shaking, and she could not stop. Her throat was dry, her legs like jelly, and still she could not drag her gaze away from this man. She felt that he was looking at her, too; she felt the consciousness of being watched, though she could not see his eyes.

How often had she been told, in the safety of the castle, to keep her head clear, to stay calm, and above all, _not to panic_? Daisy Abbott disregarded that advice now and did exactly that; she raised her wand and shouted out the first spell that came to mind. " _Impedimenta_!"

A beam of turquoise light, it shot out from her wand and struck the man. He did not move. Of course he didn't, for it was a freezing spell; and by Daisy's estimation of her own poor skills, she had about five seconds before it wore off. Scrambling backwards on the grass, she did notice the stream behind her until her feet had splashed into the cold water.

A whisper, then: or perhaps a gust of wind. She saw the man lift a hand; he still had not moved from his spot. For an instant, his outline shone like a beacon, and then light shot towards her. White spots appeared on her retinas, and Daisy Abbott, blinded, fell backwards onto the grass.

* * *

It had not taken Hugo Weasley long, after his conversation with Firenze, to decide on a course of action. Indeed, once he had recovered from the shock of all that he had seen and heard, the plan was formed ready in his mind. He would journey into the Forbidden Forest, track down the centaur colony, and find the Resurrection Stone once and for all.

Hugo was by no means adventurous. Perhaps he _had_ been, before everything had changed. Back when things had still felt safe, and his world made sense. But as it was, he had no great opinion of his own abilities as would justify such an excursion into the Forest. He was no more likely than anyone else to find what his cousin was looking for... but who else was going to try, before someone worse came along to take it off their hands for good?

Albus was not in possession of all of the facts, as he was. Albus still thought it necessary to wait until the lunar eclipse to retrieve the Stone. That was how Hugo reasoned it out to himself, in any case, although his reasoning fell short in one very important respect: it was, after all, possible to relay what he had learned to his cousin. Why had he not done so? Had that question been posed to him, Hugo would not have been able to give an honest response. The reason was burrowed in those corners of his mind that he did not like.

So he did not think about it. And as the day wore on, the only doubt that confronted him as to his planned journey was whether he would ever get away from everyone long enough to attempt it. First Stephen and Lily and the rest of the Quidditch team, all of whom seemed to want his detailed analysis of their individual performances following training, _then_ Daisy Abbott with her own particular demands on his time, and finally Alice Longbottom, who insisted not only on the thoroughness of their patrol that evening, but subsequently accompanied him back to the prefect's offices and then to Gryffindor Tower, talking all the while.

Hugo was finally forced to feign tiredness, ascend the stairs to his dormitory while besieged by theatrical yawns, and, after waiting there for some minutes, sneak back downstairs, through the common room, past Alice Longbottom and out the portrait hole undetected.

Such measures were as much an indignity as they were an inconvenience. Hugo Weasley's nerves were in shreds by the time he reached the great green sentinels of the Forbidden Forest, and as he stowed his wand in his pocket, adjusted his cloak, and cast a glance back at the castle, which was set against a dull pink sky, he half-expected someone to appear and call him back.

Perhaps it was what he had hoped for, a little, too, for the closeness of the trees and the rich scent of rotten leaves soon oppressed him after he had only been walking a little while in the forest. _Then_ he longed for the company he had been trying to escape all day; he wanted the buzz of conversation around him, rather than this heavy silence. It all gave too much time, too much room for his thoughts to develop.

He had been bearing east for some time, according to his compass, when he began to discern a rumbling in the distance, like persistent thunder. Soon the very leaves of the trees were shaking around him. In a flurry of wings, an owl flapped from the branches above. He could feel the tremors in the forest floor, rumbling up through his very body, like some wild drumbeat. Stepping off the trail, he took shelter at the base of an oak tree.

A moment later, the herd of centaurs passed within inches of him. Clods of soil were flying everywhere, and Hugo screwed up his eyes against them. A blur of shifting, muscular bodies, flying hooves, a few shouts, and then they were gone.

Cursing, Hugo rose from his hiding place, and stepped back onto the trail. He cast a glance into the darkness of the forest beyond, from which the centaurs had come, and wondered, with a shiver, what they had been fleeing. Reluctant to stay and find out, he started walking back the way he had come, his wandlight illuminating the path of broken branches and muddy hoofprints.

He had only gone a few paces when the scent reached his nostrils: of sage and mallowsweet. It conjured up images of the Divination classroom, and he halted, confused, as before him on the path smoke began to billow from nowhere, forming itself into the shape of a centaur. The smoke moved, as though it had a mouth, and from it emanated a voice unmistakable.

"Mr Weasley."

Hugo stared; he stretched out a hand towards the smoke, then dropped it again, and stammered out, "P-Professor Firenze?"

"Mr Weasley, we do not have much time," the apparition said, and for a moment Hugo saw through the smoke the gleam of blue eyes. "Someone is in trouble: I have seen it. To the west of the forest - towards the lake."

"Who?" Hugo asked, but the smoke was already dispersing, the voice of the professor becoming more distant as it said,

"You must hurry."

Hugo Weasley ran. He ran towards he knew not what. Roots tripped him up, branches whipped his face, his heart thumped in his chest, and all the while he ran, hearing again and again the urgency in Firenze's voice, pulsing through his veins like a shot of adrenaline. The light of the moon filtered down through the canopy of trees above as it darted in and out of cover, as though it were following him.

The needle of the compass shivered and trembled towards west, and Hugo Weasley heard the rushing water before he saw it: the clearing ahead. For a moment, it appeared to be empty, but then the moon, emerging from its shelter once more, illuminated the place, and laid out before him was the scene of a nightmare.

Shadows darted everywhere. Some had the shapes of men, as they sprinted and wheeled across the grass, others were winged and taloned, soaring and diving through the air. Hugo heard in his ear a high-pitched scream, like a child's, as one passed nearby: it rended his eardrum, reverberating through him.

And then he saw, as the light of the moon gleamed in the water of the stream, the motionless figure lying by its edge. For a moment he stood paralysed with horror, watching as a shadow that took the shape of a fierce, barking dog sniffed about the body, bared its teeth in a snarl and lifted its head, poised to pounce.

Rage filled Hugo Weasley, firing through him, and he raised his wand and shouted at the top of his lungs, " _EXPECTO PATRONUM_!"

Later, he would wonder what had made him use that particular incantation. After all, he knew nothing of these shadows; neither had he ever been unfortunate enough to confront Dementors. But in that moment, Hugo Weasley had never felt so grateful to his parents for teaching him and Rose that spell, as from the tip of his wand emerged the vast, silver body of a lion. A roar sounded through the clearing, and the lion raced across the grass, striking here with a mighty paw, there with a sharp bite. Foul shrieks and screams rose to the air as the shadows scattered, and Hugo's Patronus roared again, shaking its mighty mane as it came to a halt by the stream, where the body lay. It lowered its head, gently nuzzling the face.

Hugo Weasley dashed across the clearing, wand still out, and knelt by Daisy Abbott's motionless form. He took her hands in his, felt that they were ice cold, and noted with a lurch of his stomach that her face was deathly white. Her blonde hair was scattered across the grass beneath her, and her white coat covered in mud.

The relief that washed over him when he lifted her limp wrist and felt the faint throbbing of a pulse was such as Hugo had never known. Gesturing to his Patronus to move aside, he slipped an arm under her shoulders, and another beneath the crook of her knees, lifting her off the grass. Her head fell against his chest, and looking down, he saw her eyelashes flutter, and let out a breath.

They were nearing the trees when some instinct told Hugo to look around. Obeying it, his charge shifting in his arms as he did so, he turned and saw, towards the edge of the clearing, that a dark figure stood there, watching them. It looked like a man, but there was something about his stance that seemed unnatural to Hugo. He stayed there for a moment, and then, with a sound like a gentle hiss, the man was gone.

Groaning under his burden, Hugo Weasley made his way back through the Forest, his silver lion striding bravely ahead through the shifting darkness, and tried not to ponder on what he had just seen.

* * *

Albus Potter did not go home.

He got as far as the Underground station at Charing Cross, then climbed the steps again and back out into the pouring rain. There was something niggling at his mind; something he needed to settle before he could retire for the night. Drops dotted his glasses as he went along, and he made no attempt to wipe them off. A couple of teenagers raced past him with coats over their heads and bottles in their hands, bound for Camden or Shoreditch, no doubt. Their shouts filled the air and then faded down the steps behind him.

Their search in the runologist's shop having yielded nothing beyond bitter words and unwanted memories, Rose and Albus had parted ways wordlessly at the Leaky Cauldron. He had watched her for a moment as she walked away down Charing Cross Road, her head down and her shoulders hunched in the rain. He wondered if he looked as sad and lonely now as she had looked then. As he made his way back through Diagon Alley, a lone figure among the wet streets, he thought it likely.

The White Wyvern appeared to be closed when he reached it at last, but then again, Albus reminded himself, it always appeared so. He took the steps two at a time, passed through the crowded taproom quick as a flash and into the parlour.

There were people drinking there: a coarse-faced witch, with a goblet containing some strong-smelling liquor set before her, and her friend, a grey-bearded wizard who was smoking a cigar. They both stared at Albus.

"What're you doin' here?" the witch demanded shrilly, and he gathered that she was the proprietress. Beside her, the wizard serenely blew a smoke ring into the air. "It's after hours!"

With a flick of his wand, Albus muttered, " _Confundo_." The pair jerked upwards in their seats, and then rose, exchanging a bewildered glance, before passing out of the room. As the door swung closed behind them, he did not turn; he did not let the wave of doubt rise in his mind. There was no time for that.

Lifting his wand again, he pointed it at the painting, which now showed only the writhing white snake, and the rippling river behind. "Come out." His voice rang out across the room. "I know you're there."

A pause, then the sound of galloping hooves. The knight swung into the scene, lance held aloft, and began to battle with the wyvern. "Why call ye to me?" he called over his shoulder. "Can ye not see that I stand face to face with a creature from Hell's own depths?"

"Sir Cadogan," Albus said, "You have a painting in the school, too, is that right?"

The knight gave a "Heeyah!" which Albus took as confirmation, as with one last thrust he finished off the wyvern. Then, turning, he asked politely as he wiped the blood from his lance, "Ye would have me send word?"

"No," Albus said slowly. "I'd like to know how long you've been eavesdropping on our conversations."

The knight looked at him blankly. Then, drawing himself up, indignation, "What mean ye, to bring such a charge against my honour?"

"We've been meeting here for the past month," Albus went on, musingly. "Scorpius and me. Planning." He shook his head, in disbelief, "And it never occurred to me before... your painting was always covered. I didn't think to check - until today."

"If I must needs prove my innocence, it shall be done, by whatever trial ye devise..."

"I've been so stupid," Albus said softly, to himself, and then, looking the knight in the eye. "Who have you been reporting to? Who else knows about the Stone?"

The knight pulled up his horse and looked at him questioningly, hovering in the corner of the painting. "What Stone?"

"Someone in the school?" Albus persisted. He raised his wand again in warning, as the knight's hands moved towards his reins. "Stay where you are. Now tell me, what do you know?"

Sir Cadogan blinked. "Only… that you and he of the golden hair seek a treasure more precious than the Holy Grail itself."

Albus stifled a snort at the description of Malfoy, and went on, "And what treasure is that? What do you know?"

Sir Cadogan's horse reared, and his eyes strayed past Albus as he said in parting, "It is not what, good sir, but _who_."

Turning, Albus Potter saw that the door to the taproom had opened silently, and on the threshold stood one of the oldest witches he had ever beheld, a pale smile on her face and dark triumph in her eyes.

* * *

Shapes danced across Daisy Abbott's vision, and she became aware of two facts: that her eyes were closed, and that someone was carrying her, the rocking motion swaying her to and fro.

"Where am I?" she gasped out, lifting her head, and found herself, with some bewilderment, looking up into Hugo Weasley's face.

She heard him curse softly, then his brown eyes flickered away from hers as he said shortly, "Can you walk?"

"I - think so."

"Good." With a grunt of effort, he set her down on her feet, and Daisy, after a moment's dizziness, found the ground steady beneath her. Hugo, however, kept hold of her arm as they walked on through the trees. There was no light but the dim glow of his wand, and after a moment, Daisy's tentative voice penetrated the semi-darkness again.

"Where - are we? What happened? I was in a..." She frowned, finding her head to be thick and stupid. "There was this Mooncalf, with big eyes, and he was drinking water from the stream but then he ran away... and I never found those beans..."

Hugo said nothing for a moment, just tightened his grip on her arm. Then, "You're not making sense. We need to get you back to the castle."

"The castle?" Daisy repeated, and then, swivelling around to face him, "Wait - why are _you_ here?" She swayed on her feet before she had finished her question; the quick motion had sent another wave of dizziness through her. For a moment, she saw nothing but black spots, darting across her vision like strange shadows, and then the figure of Hugo Weasley formed itself before her eyes again. He held both of her arms, steadying her.

"I could ask you the same question." He faced straight ahead. "But right now, let's focus on getting out of here in one piece. Time enough for questions when we get back to the castle." Grimly, as he let go of her again, "And there'll be plenty of them."

Daisy's mind was slow and unwieldy. She struggled for a moment to understand Hugo's meaning, then, turning quickly towards him again, "You think we'll be caught?"

"Stop moving so suddenly," Hugo chided as she stumbled again. He leaned towards her. "Here - put your arm around me. There. Now stay as still as you can." They walked for a moment in silence, then, in a much more quiet voice, "I don't know what you were doing here tonight. I don't know what was going through your head. But I do know that you've got to go to the hospital wing."

"But I feel fine," Daisy said limply. "I feel - "

"I don't care how you feel." Hugo Weasley's voice rang out among the trees, loud and sharp, and Daisy jumped. "I'm bringing you to Healer Hopkirk."

His tone brooked no argument; Daisy, in any case, was too drowsy to oppose him any further, and so the two walked through the dark woods in silence.

* * *

Wind whistled through the slitted windows of the Owlery, ruffling the feathers of its occupants, most of whom were sleeping soundly when Tobias Greengrass came in. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, and a small shape took form by the window. Dropping the hastily-scribbled letter to Aunt Tori, he demanded,

"What are _you_ doing here?"

Will Greengrass gave a jump of alarm, the parchment dropping out of his hand. In a few quick strides, Tobias had made it across the room and picked it up.

"No - don't - " Will started, reaching out.

Savagely, Tobias tore the parchment to pieces. He had not even needed to read the name on the front to know who it was for. "You're not writing to Mum." He met Will's gaze, held it, even as his brother's gaze began to stray away. "You don't even know where she is."

His brother's shoulders slumped. "Terry might be able to find her."

Tobias gave a derisive snort, with a glance at their aged barn owl on the perch above them. "Terry wouldn't even make it across the Channel."

"She can't be that far," Will insisted stubbornly.

"We're not talking about this." Tobias put a hand on his brother's shoulder, steering him towards the door. "Come on, it's past curfew."

His brother struggled in his grip as they walked. He was smaller; Tobias had filled out over the summer, but Will was runty, even for eleven. "He's found her before."

Tobias halted at the doorway, and slowly turned to look at his brother. "What?"

With one skinny arm, Will pushed Tobias away, then adjusted the sleeve of his shirt, which had rolled up a little over his wrist. "Terry. He's found Mum before."

"You're telling me," Tobias said slowly, "That you've written to her before?"

Will looked down, scuffing his shoe on the stone. "She never writes back. She can't. But I know Terry found her - because he brought back this." He dug in his pocket, drawing out a moonstone ring. Tobias stared at it. "Don't you remember? _I_ do. She wore it before Dad left..."

"Of _course_ I remember," Tobias said sharply. Holding out his hand for the ring, "Give me that. What if someone found it on you? What if someone caught you writing to her?" Then, observing the change in his brother's expression as he stepped back, his fist curling over the ring, "Someone has already." At Will's continued silence, "Charlie Broadmoor. Am I right?"

Will squirmed for a moment, then, folding his arms over his skinny frame, looked away. "He found it in our dormitory. A letter I was writing her. I told him I wasn't going to send it, but I don't think he believed me." A pause.

"So you made sure he would," Tobias finished quietly. "You made sure he knew whose side you were on."

More silence. An owl hooted, the wind moaned like a living thing, and for the first time, Will Greengrass looked at his brother in appeal. "I'm sorry, Toby. I didn't want to do it. You know that. But..."

"I know," Tobias said shortly. "I understand it all now."

And, turning, he walked through the door of the Owlery and down the stone steps, his footfalls echoing around the stairwell like those of a giant.

* * *

The grey light of dawn was spilling over the horizon when Scorpius Malfoy found himself before the iron-wrought gates that had loomed across his childhood.

He had been out almost all night, and he hardly knew where. A blur of public houses, of friends who appeared and vanished again, and then the harsh, bright lights of a takeaway was all with which his memory was graced. And somehow, after it all, instead of returning to Charing Cross, he had wound up here instead.

After glancing around him, out of habit more than anything else, Scorpius pulled out his wand and tapped the bars of the gates, in the pattern his parents had shown him since he was small. A moment's wait, and then the gates gave an almighty creak as they opened. He crunched down the gravel driveway, under dripping trees and past overgrown hedges. The manor house rose before him, with its wealth of diamond-paned windows and impressive arches, but somehow, it was not the cold, frightening place that he remembered.

No, Scorpius Malfoy realised as he stepped into the vestibule to find the inner door already open. It was something else.

"Mum," he called, his voice echoing through the gloom. "I'm home."

* * *

Hugo Weasley's prediction proved correct. Not only was there plenty of time for the questions that ensued on his and Daisy's return from the Forbidden Forest, there was an abundance of questions themselves - too many for the overwhelmed mind of Daisy Abbott as she sat propped up on her pillows in the hospital wing on the following morning.

"What in Merlin's name made you think it was a good idea?" Neville Longbottom demanded multiple times, each repetition accompanied by increasing agitation. "To go into the Forbidden Forest after dark, alone, defenceless... what possessed you?"

"What do you remember?" was Professor Broadmoor's calmer interrogative as she and Hugo sat side by side in his office a little while later. "Mr Weasley told us last night of the state he found you in - the creatures that had gathered around you. What do you remember of them?"

"What were you looking for, anyway?" Hugo made his wearied contribution to the inquisition after they had exited the Headmaster's office. "What was so important that you couldn't wait for help?"

Tongue-tied at the best of times, Daisy Abbott found the task of answering these questions more than she could bear. To her uncle, she could only make the feeble protest that she had not counted on its getting dark so quickly; to Professor Broadmoor, she was forced to admit that she remembered nothing about what had happened to her in the forest - nothing of relevance, that was - and to Hugo, she was too ashamed to admit the truth: that no prospect of danger could have overpowered her aversion to being in her cousin's debt. In the last case, she was spared, as Hugo Weasley turned his back to her almost as soon as he had asked the question, and strode away down the corridor without waiting for an answer.

Of course, Daisy was not the only one faced with questions innumerable; a fact which soon made itself clear, but to which, nevertheless, certain people felt it their duty to call attention.

"You realise how much trouble he's in?" It was dinnertime; students laughed and conversed at their House tables, while just outside the open doors, the figure of Alice Longbottom cast a long shadow on the walls of the Entrance Hall behind her. "They're talking about taking away his prefect privileges."

Meeting her cousin's gaze, Daisy Abbott could not conceal her dismay. "They can't do that!"

"They can and will. Since he refuses to say why he went into the Forest in the first place." Alice leaned towards her cousin, eyes scanning her face as though to ensure that her words were having the full effect. "And he might as well forget about being Head Boy now."

Daisy dropped her eyes, for now she felt dangerously close to tears, and whatever steel was left in her insisted that Alice should not see it. Her cousin, oblivious, was still talking. "You can't just do what you like, Daisy, you know. You're in Hogwarts now, and there are rules... and they've already made a lot of allowances for you. I heard Broadmoor tell Dad that next time, there'll be real consequences."

"There won't be a next time," Daisy mumbled, suddenly focused on the pattern of the marble floor beneath her, but Alice did not seem to hear her.

"Hugo's a good person. He'll always help out someone in a tight spot. And he wants to see you do well, Daisy. We all do." She sighed. "Still, Zane Shacklebolt said he'd be happy to take over your mentoring, even though he's already so busy. Isn't that nice of him?"

Daisy's head shot up. Suddenly, she did not care if Alice saw her tears or not. "Hugo won't be mentoring me anymore?"

Alice regarded her with some surprise. "He can't. Broadmoor wants him to do the detentions the old-fashioned way." After a moment's confused pause, she added, "You know that Hugo only agreed to mentor you as a way to work out his detentions from last year, right? It was a deal, between him and Zane and the Headmaster, and now..." With a shrug, "It looks like the deal's off."

The ability to sink a person to new depths with a few well-placed words was not doled out to everyone in life. No, Daisy Abbott thought to herself as she returned to the Hufflepuff common room, it was a gift, and one with which her cousin had certainly been blessed. Ignoring the accusatory gazes of her classmates, she made her way down the little hall of round doors, entered her dormitory and pulled the curtains around her four-poster bed. She burrowed down into the sheets, drawing the blanket over her head, and breathed a sigh of relief that, at least for now, there were no more questions to confront her.

* * *

Albus Potter sat up all night in the basement kitchen of Grimmauld Place.

It was not the first time he had done so. There was something about being awake during the early hours of the morning that he had always liked; perhaps it was the vestige of some childish delight in the forbidden - in the reading light left on long after his parents had sent him to bed.

As it was, he had much to think about, and despite knowing he would have to be up the next morning to open the shop, sleep was simply not an option. It was a good thing, too, Albus later reflected, that when the girl with wild red hair and dark ringed eyes arrived in from the howling, rainy night, there had been someone up to meet her, and ensure that she did not wake the entire house.

He had never seen Rose like that. She had stumbled down the steps into the kitchen, sobbing, and fallen into her cousin's waiting arms at the bottom of the staircase. It was a long time before he could make any sense of what she was trying to tell him, and longer still before he could persuade her to take herself to bed.

But in time, with the help of a Firewhiskey and a great deal of comforting words that meant absolutely nothing, Albus endeavoured to place Rose at some ease, and secure her promise that she would at least try to close her eyes for a little while. It was a pity he could not do himself the same favour, as when she had ascended the basement stairs and left him alone once more, he found that there were several claims upon his mind and emotions.

The note Scorpius had sent Rose, which she had shown him and then left in his charge, contained only a few hastily-scribbled lines about his need to 'take some time out'. Reading it, Albus felt that he hated him; he felt fired up, ready to spring up and do something. Yet as soon as he had put the parchment down, the sensation faded, and he was left only with a potent mixture of excitement and dread: the same that had gripped him on leaving the White Wyvern with his prize.

"What's your price?" he had asked the pale-eyed witch, once she had made her offer. "There's always a price."

She had laughed. "Of course there is. And you will pay it soon enough, believe me."

Those words should have warned him, a part of Albus Potter knew. They should have terrified him.

And he did feel afraid; but his fear was of a different nature. It froze his mind and stayed his hand, until finally, when the ticking clock told him morning was close at hand, Albus reached into his pockets and took out the small object. Carefully he unwrapped the purple cloth, his trembling hands lit by the flickering fire, and onto his lap rolled the Resurrection Stone.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hope you enjoyed, and are not too confused.

I want to take a moment to thank all of you who've reviewed, followed, favorited etc. I've enjoyed reading your thoughtful responses over the past few months; they really help with the development of the story. Fanfiction is unique in that sense.

As always, visit my tumblr if you have any questions! Anything that I list below for the music that inspired the writing of this chapter can be found with a quick Youtube search.

 **Music:** "Ripley" - The Talented Mr. Ripley soundtrack, Harry Rabinowitz, Gabriel Yared

"Radagast the Brown" - The Hobbit soundtrack, Howard Shore

"Eating Alone" - Shrek soundtrack, Harry Gregson-Williams, John Powell

"Rue's Farewell" - The Hunger Games soundtrack, James Newton Howard

"Light of the Seven" - Game of Thrones soundtrack, Ramin Djawadi


	8. The Lion and the Badger

**A/N:** Hey, all! Can you believe it's nearly Christmas?

With this story, there have ended up being rather more subplots than I had originally planned, and sometimes it's difficult to fit them in, as in this case. So for the next two chapters I've split the action between Hogwarts and London. Which means that this coming chapter will be mainly focused on Hugo and Daisy, and the next installment, which should be up in a few weeks' time, will dive back in with Albus, Scorpius, Rose and that lot.

Enjoy! Happy reading :)

 **Previously:**

Squib Daisy Abbott is only at Hogwarts by the grace of a bargain made with a shady witch, and things have not been easy for her. She is currently in disgrace for having ventured into the Forbidden Forest in search of Sopophorous Beans. Her crush and former mentor, Hugo Weasley, is also in trouble, since he broke school rules in helping her escape from the shadowy creatures she encountered there - of which she now has no memory.

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** Copyright JK Rowling

* * *

 **Chapter 6: The Lion and the Ba** **dger**

It was a dream.

Daisy Abbott knew it to be, by that indefinable haze at the edge of the picture before her; by the strange pattern of her own thoughts; and by the way in which objects appeared and disappeared, became people and then dissolved again before she could recognise their faces.

Her sense of place, too, was distorted in a distinctly dreamlike fashion. As she sat in a boat over a great body of water, she felt herself to be at once on the black lake in Hogwarts and at home in London; the chugging of an engine in the distance she knew belonged to both the Hogwarts Express and the Tube, and her mind made no attempt to choose between the two scenes, almost as though it preferred the hybrid they created.

Had these things not alerted her to the fact that she was in a dream, then one last aspect would surely have given it away: the fact that, as the waters below her began to churn and whip, she felt no fear - only a strange sense of loss which stayed with her long after she had woken in her cheerful Hufflepuff dormitory, hand outstretched above her covers as though she were reaching for something.

* * *

"Abbott? Abbott, I'm talking to you."

Daisy jerked up in her chair to find that she had been nodding over her cereal, that several of her neighbours at the Hufflepuff table were regarding her curiously, and that a grim-visaged Hugo Weasley was looming over her.

"I'm sorry," she said, as she attempted to subtly remove a strand of hair from her mouth. "I didn't get much sleep last night..."

"Our detention has been rescheduled to this evening. And it'll be with Bulstrode instead of Tomgallon." At her blank expression, "Madam Bulstrode. The gamekeeper."

"I know who she is," Daisy said crossly, but she found herself directing her words at the Fat Friar instead, for Hugo had already swept away and back across the bustling Great Hall, to his own table. It was a bright morning, with pink puffs of cloud dotting the enchanted ceiling, but the whole scene appeared to her slightly dimmed; her eyes were scratchy with tiredness, and she had an unpleasant taste in her mouth.

"Fraternising with the enemy, are we, eh, Miss Abbott?" chuckled the House ghost as he bobbed across the table.

"She wouldn't dare," Ryan Pratt declared as he planted himself in the chair beside Daisy's, dropping his Quidditch gloves between the sliced ham and scrambled egg. "Not the day before the match." Waving his finger at her as he bit into a corner of toast, " _No_ , don't tell me you forgot."

"She couldn't have," Tracy Towers said from the other side of the table. Looking at Daisy pointedly, "The House match tomorrow? Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff?"

"I've had a lot on my mind - "

"No, no, _no_..." Ryan Pratt continued to shake his finger at Daisy even as he reached for a glass of pumpkin juice, with the result that most of its contents slopped over onto his lap. "That's no excuse. Quidditch is something that concerns all of us. What?" Swivelling around to his neighbour on the other side, "What are you laughing at, Bessie Cattermole? This is serious stuff."

" _Very_ serious," Tracy Towers agreed, but with a mischievous glint in her eye, and her friend across the table gave another snort.

The Hufflepuff captain threw his hands up in despair. "Well, I'm counting on you two to make sure Abbott goes to this match tomorrow. We need all the support we can get, and you're her roommates, after all."

"We'll try our best," the girls vowed in unison, but a look was interchanged between them that excluded the subject of their conversation.

Daisy pushed her cereal bowl aside and rose to her feet. "Where are you going?" Ryan demanded through a mouthful of raisins, but she only muttered something about having lost her appetite before hurrying out of the Great Hall.

Her Hufflepuff Housemates were not the only ones to watch her go. At the Gryffindor table, a bored Lily Potter was struck with a wave of inspiration. "Daisy Abbott," she said in triumph. "Shag, marry, kill: Eva Walters, Tracy Towers, Daisy Abbott."

Stephen McCubbin stroked his chin with the air of a great mage considering a thorny theological question, and took his time in answering. Then, listing off on his fingers, "Kill: Tracy Towers. Can't stand her chirpy voice. Marry: Eva Walters." Lowering his voice so that the girl in question, who was sitting at the other end of the House table, would not hear them. "Though I'd like to do a lot more than that, to tell you the truth."

"Since Eva is a friend of mine, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Lily said primly. "So you'd shag Daisy Abbott, then."

After a moment's consideration, McCubbin shrugged. "Yeah, I'd take _her_ up to the Shrieking Shack."

At which point Hugo Weasley, who was sitting nearby, made his first contribution to the conversation: a laugh that he rapidly turned into a cough.

"What?" his friend demanded. "Something you'd like to share with the class, Weasley?"

Hugo did not lower the paper he was reading to address his friends, so that it appeared as though the photograph of William Corley's puffy face on the cover were snorting derisively at them. "Good luck, mate, that's all I'll say."

Lily giggled, while McCubbin swelled in indignation. "You don't think I'd have a chance, is that it?"

"I didn't say that," came the response, but now it seemed as though the _Daily Prophet_ across the table from them was suffering convulsions of the most alarming kind, and Stephen McCubbin rolled his eyes as he turned back to Lily.

"Your turn. Shag, marry, kill. Robbie Carter, Horace Fielding, Jim Stebbins..."

But his red-haired companion, still intrigued by their previous discussion, paid him no heed. Leaning forward in her chair, "Do you know something _we_ don't?" As the _Prophet_ remained immobile, she reached a hand towards it, curling down the top. "Hugo Charles Weasley..."

Her cousin looked expectantly at her as his face became visible over the top of the paper. "Lily Luna Potter?"

"What do you know about Daisy Abbott?" Lily persisted. "Does she like someone else in the school?" Hugo only favoured her with a mysterious smile before raising his paper again.

"You'll get nothing out of him," McCubbin said resignedly. "Trust me, when Weasley has a secret..."

"I know!" Lily interrupted, her eyes still trained on her cousin as though they could bore right through the paper. "She likes you, doesn't she?"

The _Prophet_ dipped a little, which Lily Potter seemed to take in the same spirit as a confirming nod. She leaned back in her chair with an expression of idle triumph. "Well, there go your chances, Stephen."

Another snort from their unseen companion. "McCubbin's welcome to her."

"Are you sure you mean that?" Lily teased, but she was met with only silence. The paper had gone utterly still, as though its reader were holding his breath, and McCubbin and Lily looked at each other. The former was the first to speak.

"Weasley. Weasley, is everything all right?"

"No," Hugo Weasley responded, and slowly put down his paper to meet his cousin's gaze. The colour had drained from his face as he pointed out an item towards the bottom of the broadsheet. "Look at this."

A little way down the Gryffindor table, which was now rapidly clearing of its occupants as the time for class approached, Alice and Enid Longbottom had been listening to the exchange, and now turned to one another with wide eyes, as they held forth in hushed whispers,

"I don't believe it! Do _you_?"

"I know! _Our_ Daisy!"

"Do you think that's why she wanted to go to Hogwarts in the first place?"

"I wouldn't have thought _she_..."

"Surely _he_ doesn't - "

"Why didn't she say anything?"

At the sound of the last bell, Enid Longbottom dutifully rose, but her sister, still sitting down, caught hold of her sleeve. "We've got to find out for sure. If Daisy likes him."

"What, you mean like - ask her?" Enid looked alarmed at the prospect.

"No." Alice Longbottom's pretty brow wrinkled, as though she were thinking hard. Then it cleared. "I've got a better idea."

* * *

Wind thumped through the east courtyard, dragging its feet along the stone and carrying with it a few blackened leaves. Lily Potter put her hood up as she dashed across to where her cousin was seated on the lone bench.

"I got out of Charms as soon as I could," she said breathlessly. "So, did you find anything?"

Hugo Weasley turned his face up to the blank sky, which was churning out a fine grain of white as though some great millwheel were turning behind the clouds. "Nothing. I went to the library straight after breakfast, but I couldn't find anything on it."

"And you think this thing might be connected to it?" With hands made clumsy by the cold, Lily dug out the rolled up paper from her bag and unfolded it, flipping to the third page and perusing once more the article at the bottom, which read: _Two Muggles found dead in holiday inn, Braemar, Scotland. Auror Office treating deaths as suspicious._

"I don't know." Hugo blew out his breath as he leaned over his cousin's shoulder to look at the paper. "But those shadows in the Forbidden Forest... I've never seen anything like them before. They seemed dangerous - maybe the work of some Dark wizard."

Lily Potter gave a shudder. "I still can't believe you put so much at risk." She looked at her cousin soberly as she said, "Daisy Abbott's lucky you had her back."

Hugo's face did not change. "I would have done the same for anyone."

"All the same." Lily started to gather up her things. "You should owl your mum about this. Be sure to use invisible ink, just in case the letter falls into the wrong hands." As her cousin nodded, she carried on, "I've got a study period till lunch, so I'll head to the library and pick up where you left off."

"See you later," Hugo replied, and the two rose from the bench, hurried back into the shelter of the castle, and went their separate ways.

* * *

"You know what to do?" Alice Longbottom whispered to her sister as they stood outside the door.

Slowly, Enid nodded, though she looked uncertain as she kept her eyes trained on the older girl. "All clear."

"Then we're going in." With great deliberation, as though they were about to penetrate an enemy lair rather than the school library, Alice pushed open the double doors, and walked in.

What many students had taken to doing, as the exam season approached, was packing up the excess food from breakfast and bringing it with them into the library, rather than lose their seat in going down to the Great Hall at lunchtime. Such a measure was against the rules, of course, but Mr Shirley was not as sharp-eyed as his predecessor had been, and so if one could manage to eat discreetly in between thumbing through Potions assignments and suchlike, it was easy to get away with.

Alice was not really surprised to see that her cousin had picked up on the trick. As they approached her table by a little box window, she watched Daisy Abbott suppress a yawn and then take a bite of a pumpkin pasty.

"Working hard?" With a smile, Alice dropped into the chair opposite her cousin's, seemingly unaware of the start she had occasioned.

"Is that the essay for Professor Harris?" Enid peered over Daisy's shoulder.

"Yes - I'm..." Daisy mumbled thickly, then swallowed and tucked the pasty back in her satchel. "Having a bit of trouble."

"Oh, no, really? Do you need some help?" Rising up from her seat, Alice craned her neck to see across, then tutted. "You've written - what - three lines? How long have you been here?"

Daisy coloured, and ducked her head down over the parchment. Alice sat back and propped her chin on her elbows. "Well, never mind, I suppose you can just ask Zane to help you. You're _so_ lucky to have him as a mentor, you know, he's one of the smartest students in the school. Daisy..." Her cousin looked up at the sound of her name, and Alice saw for the first time the shadows under her eyes. She pressed on, "I actually wanted to show you something. Come with me."

Warily, Daisy stood up and followed her cousin around the stacks while Enid remained behind. They passed Mr Shirley's desk, and the librarian spared a smile for Alice as he stamped a book. Past the Transfiguration section was a round table, close to the alcove where she and Hugo had once had their study sessions, where several sixth-year Gryffindors were studying. Alice came to a halt, and, muffling her mouth with one hand, leaned towards Daisy as she pointed out the wizard beside Lily. "You know Stephen?"

Daisy nodded, her eyes flicking to the table and then back to her cousin. "Stephen McCubbin. I remember him from the train."

"Sssh! Keep your voice down!" But Alice was grinning as she dragged Daisy back behind a shelf, and whispered in her ear, "He likes you."

"Oh." Blinking, Daisy edged away from her cousin's hot breath. "R-really?"

"He told me this morning." Alice nodded importantly. "He wants to take you to Hogsmeade on the next trip."

"I'm still banned from Hogsmeade," Daisy said, but her cousin's smile only broadened.

"But you'd say yes if you could? You'd go with him?" Without waiting for an answer, Alice straightened up. "Will I tell him now?"

" _No_!" Daisy's hand shot out and grasped her cousin's arm. "Alice, don't!"

"Daisy, you're blushing." Alice surveyed her cousin's face with unbridled delight, then, giving an exaggerated sigh, "Oh, all right. If you're shy, then we can wait. He doesn't need an answer yet - I'm sure he'll understand..."

"I'm - not - _shy_ ," Daisy Abbott said through gritted teeth, and then, releasing herself from Alice's grip, stalked away across the library.

"Oh, that was _so_ funny." Grinning, Alice linked her arm with her sister's as she emerged from the library a few minutes later. As they started down the corridor, "Well, any luck?"

"I found this in her bag." Enid's response was quiet, tentative, but with her free hand she drew out from her satchel a school notebook inscribed with the name _Daisy Abbott_.

"Perfect." Alice took the notebook off her sister. Her eyebrows rose as she thumbed through the pages. "Oh, she likes him, all right."

"Let me see." Enid hung over her sister's shoulder. It was a Muggle notebook, and their cousin's round, childish hand jumped off every page: to-do lists, verses of songs or poems they had never heard of, and calculating tables crowded the lines, but the damning evidence was in the margins, where, on every other page, the initials H.W. were placed in various arrangements.

"So cute." Alice pressed a hand to her heart, then closed the notebook with a snap. "Good work, Enid."

"We should leave it back to her," Enid said as they set off again. "Before she misses it."

Alice waved a hand. "Don't worry, I'll get one of the girls put it in her dormitory at the end of the day."

"But..." Her sister's voice was quiet as they approached the moving staircase, but Alice turned, with a questioning look. "Even if she won't find out, it doesn't feel..."

"What?"

Enid Longbottom bit her lip. "Well... right."

Alice sighed, then, with a jerk of her sister's arm, brought them both to a halt beside a window with a view of the mountains. "Enid. Don't you see what's happening?" At the other witch's uncomprehending glance, she continued, "Daisy's trying to get her claws into Hugo."

Enid's eyes widened. With a grim expression, Alice nodded. "It's true. How long have I liked him?" After a moment, she amended, "Have _we_ liked him?"

"For years," her sister mumbled in response, scuffing her shoe on the floor.

"Exactly. And then Daisy comes in here like she owns the place - when we've been here for _years_ \- and starts playing her little games! All those mentoring sessions, getting lost in the Forest, telling him she likes him..." Alice watched as comprehension dawned on her sister's face. "You see? She's not as innocent as she'd like everyone to think."

"But - why?" Enid's voice was still quiet, but with a wondering quality to it now as she looked out into the swirling snow, watching as an owl circled the North Tower. "I mean, Daisy's so pretty. Isn't she?" Her sister was silent. Enid went on, "She could get any bloke she wanted. Why would she..."

"Why would she want to take Hugo off me?" Alice finished. With a steely look in her eye, "Because she's jealous, Enid. Jealous of both of us. She's always wanted what we have." As the other witch made a faint sound of protest, "It's true. Think about it: she _made_ Dad get her a letter of acceptance to Hogwarts, even though she knew she'd be a burden to everyone. Because she couldn't stand that we have magic and she doesn't."

"But she does," Enid pointed out. "She does have magic now."

"Yes," Alice said darkly. "However she managed it." Turning towards the moving staircase, she tucked Daisy's notebook under her arm. "Come on, I want to get something to eat."

* * *

Daisy Abbott had retreated to the Restricted Section after her encounter with Alice, but found it impossible to write in her agitated state. She was on her way out, satchel on her shoulder, when she became aware of a commotion near where she had been sitting before.

"I've asked you three times now to leave."

"I swear, sir, I'm going in a minute - "

Daisy peered around the corner of the Transfiguration Section, her blonde hair falling around her face. Beside the table occupied by sixth-year Gryffindors, Ryan Pratt was standing in full Quidditch gear. He had his hand outstretched, palm upwards, as though waiting to be handed something, but the Gryffindors paid him no heed.

"Sir," Stephen McCubbin said lazily, without looking up from his book. "He's disturbing our study."

Ryan Pratt began to spit out a curse, but he was cut short when the librarian caught him by the arm. "Right, that's enough. If you won't listen to reason..."

Students fell silent and stared as the seventh-year was marched out of the library. A moment later, the double doors had slammed shut behind Ryan. Daisy looked around again, her hand on the bookshelf, and watched as Stephen McCubbin spluttered with laughter, high-fiving the other two Gryffindor boys at his table. She bit her lip.

It was not difficult to trace the movements of the disgraced Hufflepuff. Daisy followed the muddy footprints a little way down the corridor outside the library, and came upon the Quidditch captain at the bottom of the staircase to the clock tower.

He was perched in the windowseat a few steps up, and as Daisy's eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, she saw that he had his head in his hands. For a moment, the steady _tick_ of the clock mechanism far above them provided the only sound, but then Daisy pulled the door to with a creak, and took a step forward. "Ryan?"

Startled, Ryan Pratt lifted his head, then quickly averted his gaze and cleared his throat. "All right, Daisy?"

"I could ask you the same question," she said gently, and then, when he didn't respond, moved to the staircase. "What happened back there?"

"Gryffindors." His mouth contorted into a bitter shape to form the one word.

"What about them?"

The Hufflepuff captain ran a hand through his gelled hair, then cursed. "Sod it." Rising to his feet, "They've gone and hidden the key to the broomshed again, that's what." Ryan threw an aimless punch at the wall, then winced away. "The day before the match."

Daisy was frowning. "How do you know it's the Gryffindors?"

Ryan just gave her a look. "Because they've done it before. Besides, I saw Weasley and that prat McCubbin sneaking off to the pitch earlier, in the middle of class. Think they're right jokers, they do."

Daisy felt something coiling in her gut. "That's... not fair."

"No, it's not," Ryan said with a dry laugh. "But it's Weasley, isn't it?" He raised his eyebrows, as though such a statement required no further elaboration.

Daisy Abbott stood back as the Hufflepuff captain started down the steps, her mouth pursed. She turned as he passed her. "Ryan."

"What?"

She could feel his inquiring look, but Daisy hesitated for a moment, thinking hard. "There were... some girls back in my old school. In London. They used to play pranks - turning my desk and chair upside down, swapping my notes with other students', that kind of thing. Once they hid my sheet music - the day I had a piano exam." She swallowed, still painfully conscious of Ryan's gaze on her - and of the fact that she had never said uttered this many words together in his presence. "I showed up crying, and the examiner got me to sit down and tell him what had happened. This was a real stuffy bloke, right from the Guildford Hall, with the poshest accent you can imagine. And you know what he said?" She looked up, forcing herself to meet Ryan's eyes. "Play on, he said. Play what you can remember, and never mind the rest."

A beat, then, "Did you pass?"

Daisy hesitated. "We-ell, I ended up having to resit the exam, because I completely fluffed the Chopin piece without sheet music." More earnestly, as she saw her companion smile, "But you can't let them win, Ryan. So you can't practise today. They made sure of that. Well, you get out on that pitch tomorrow and you _destroy_ them."

"I will." Ryan Pratt punched her shoulder. "Thanks, Abbott." Over his shoulder as he exited the tower door, "Glad to see you have some House spirit after all."

* * *

The light of the setting sun streamed in the windows of the Gryffindor boys' dormitory, illuminating the dust motes floating above the four-poster beds. Hugo Weasley lay on his stomach, a heavy book propped open on the pillows before him, and jerked his head in acknowledgement as Lily Potter entered the room.

"Found anything?"

"Maybe... _why_ are you listening to that awful racket." She plopped down on his bed with a wince.

"I like having it on," Hugo said vaguely, but he lifted his wand all the same and shut off the indistinct crackle of the wireless on the windowsill.

Lily was rummaging in her bag. She drew a dogeared volume whose binding was nearly in pieces, and carefully handed it to Hugo. "It's mainly old spells you can't use anymore, but there's a chapter in it on Necromancy... I thought it might be..."

"Not Necromancy," Hugo said with a groan, and tossed the volume aside as he rolled over on his bed, staring at the ceiling as though it alone knew his plight. "I've been reading up on Necromancy all afternoon." He gestured to the book still open on his pillows, and then to the pile on his bedstand. "They all say the same thing - that you need a conduit like the - er - Resurrection Stone - in order to summon spirits..."

"And the Resurrection Stone's been lost for years," said Lily.

"Right," Hugo said, with a wary glance at his cousin, but she seemed distracted. Reaching over to his bedstand, she plucked the pieces of a still-smouldering envelope.

"Your mum sent you a Howler?"

Hugo nodded, with a pained expression as he directed his gaze up to the ceiling again. "As soon as I owled her this morning. Like she was lying in wait, or something." Raising the pitch of his voice, "She told me 'under no circumstances to leave the castle'. As if I was going to go running and find whoever murdered those Muggles in Braemar." With a sidelong glance at Lily, "Apparently your dad is already out there, investigating."

"I know," Lily said, looking down. "Albus told me."

"Oh - right." There was an awkward silence, then after a moment, Hugo heaved a sigh. "It's times like these you'd really miss him around. He's great at this kind of research stuff." Catching Lily's eye, "What?"

"I don't know, maybe if you two were still talking to each other - "

"Hey, that's not _my_ fault. I've tried writing to him, I've tried Floo..." Hugo trailed off, patting a hand to his auburn hair so that it pressed close to his scalp. After another pause, he asked, more quietly, "What's going on with Rose? Mum mentioned something about her and Malfoy. They had a fight, or something."

"They broke up," Lily said flatly.

"Merlin. Well, can't say I'm surprised." Hugo adjusted his position to get more comfortable, and the old book shifted over the bedclothes.

"Careful," Lily admonished, catching it with her hands as it fell open. "I had to get Professor Ford to sign off on this for me. Mr Shirley will _kill_ me if there's any damage... What?" She looked up to see that the strangest expression had come over her cousin's face; he was frowning as though trying to remember something.

"Let me see that for a second." Wordlessly, she passed the book back into his hands, and Hugo sat up on his bed. He shook his head, then scratched his nose. "It's not - no, it can't be..."

"What?" Lily exclaimed, and he turned the book around so that she could see it. On one of the brittle pages was drawn a creature, against a background of night sky. It was shaped like a man, but for the wings sprouting from its back, and a pair of yellow eyes that almost seemed alive as they stared out at Hugo and Lily. Beneath the picture was written, in spidery lettering: _Beware the Guardian_.

"I saw him," Hugo said slowly. "In the Forest, when I found Abbott in that clearing. My Patronus had just chased away the shadows... and he was there, in the trees. Watching."

Lily clutched at her cousin's arm. The sun's rays had passed beyond the dormitory window, and suddenly it was very dim inside. "Why didn't you mention this before?"

"I didn't remember," Hugo said dumbly. With a shake of his head. "Until now. It's as if..."

"A Memory charm?"

"I don't know." Distractedly, Hugo detached her hand from his arm, and glanced towards the window. "It's late." He rose from his bed, and passed the book back into Lily's hands. "Hold onto this for as long as you can. As soon as this match is over with, we can... start figuring stuff out."

"Over with?" his cousin repeated, with a faint attempt at a smile. "Hugo, this match is all you've been talking about for the past fortnight."

"Well, let's just say my priorities have changed."

* * *

It had stopped snowing, but the raw cold that crept around the castle as the evening drew in was far worse. Most students retreated to their common rooms; however, for the two unfortunates exiled to the gamekeeper's patch of garden at the far end of the grounds, that was not an option.

"I need all this repaired," Madam Bulstrode declared, gesturing with a large hand to the broken paling before them. It surrounded a large field that backed onto the Forest, and Hugo Weasley's eyes went instantly to the trees.

Daisy Abbott stood beside him, bundled up with a scarf, a blue cap set atop her blonde head. She watched wide-eyed and silent as Madam Bulstrode issued her instructions.

"We're going to keep the carriage Thestrals here from now on," she went on, pointing to the large, bare field, "The village isn't safe anymore. Two escaped last night. If we lose any more, the Board'll have my head. So I'm counting on you lot. 'Course, it'll have to be by hand: Broadmoor's orders." As they stared, she laughed. "Here, don't look like that! When it's all done, you can come in warm up with a cup of mulled wine."

"Madness," Hugo Weasley muttered as the gamekeeper strode away, keys swinging on her belt. "No magic. Can you believe it?" He glanced at Daisy, who was watching the smoke curl out of the chimney of Madam Bulstrode's hut with a wistful expression on her face.

"Last week Tomgallon had us scrubbing trophies with no magic."

"Yeah, but that was different." Hugo blew out his breath, stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of the old Quidditch jumper he was wearing. "Warmer."

Daisy looked at him as he jumped up and down on the spot, hugging himself with his arms, and then cast her eyes down, with an expression as though she were trying not to smile. "I prefer Madam Bulstrode to Mr Tomgallon."

"Yeah, I can see why," Hugo retorted. "He had a bit of a thing for you, our Peeping Tom." Grinning, he glanced over for her reaction, but Daisy had stepped forward so that he could not see her expression.

"We'd better get to work."

Various sections of the fence surrounding the enclosure were broken, and as they worked their way around, edging closer and closer to the Forest, they began to see that with most of the damage, it was not a matter of simply reinforcing the rotten railings. Some of the posts had sunk deep into the mud, causing the fence to sag, which meant that they had to dig through the frozen ground to retrieve them. It grew colder and colder, and dusk settled around them, the sky deepening to a dark blue against which the castle stood out blackly.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Hugo Weasley said at last, breaking nearly an hour's silence between them. Daisy was kneeling down on the frozen ground, attempting to hold the post steady, though with gloved hands that kept slipping off the wood, and madly chattering teeth, it was proving a difficult task. "This is ridiculous."

"I'm trying my best." Her voice was so quiet that it barely reached his ears.

Hugo rolled his eyes. "I don't mean _you_. I mean this." Shaking his head, he dropped the piece of wood he had been holding, produced a small jar from his pocket and knelt beside Daisy.

"What are you doing?" she said wearily as he drew his wand. "We're not supposed to use magic, remember?"

Hugo snorted. "I think in this kind of cold, even Broadmoor would make an exception." Muttering an incantation, he held his wand to the opening of the jar, and sparks shot from the tip, sprouting and blossoming into blue flame at the bottom like some delicate flower. "Here." Without looking at Daisy, he reached out and took her hands in his, then cursed. "You're freezing."

Daisy Abbott let him curl her stiff fingers around the jar, and as she felt the warmth spreading through her palms, she lifted her eyes to his downturned face. It was lit strangely, cast in blue. She spoke without really thinking - for the past hour, in the bone-numbing cold, thoughts had become unimportant.

"I don't understand you."

Hugo looked up at her, the blue flame reflected in his pupils. Daisy went on, almost dreamily, "Sometimes you're so nice. Like in the Forest. Like now. But then, other times..."

With a laugh that sounded forced, he passed the heated jar to her and stood, stamping his feet to keep himself warm. "Well, I had to be tough, when I was your mentor. I wanted you to do well. I'm sure Zane does too, even if he has a different method to mine. And if I was a bit short with you after what happened in the Forest..." Another uncomfortable laugh, "It _did_ get me in a lot of trouble." Gesturing around him, at the paling that surrounded the enclosure. "I mean, I didn't exactly plan for all this."

"That's not what I was talking about," said Daisy in a low voice, but Hugo did not appear to be listening now. Turning, he regarded the dark trees behind them, and with a shiver, folded his arms over his front.

"Abbott, I've been wondering," he said, "about what you remember from the night of the Forest?"

"I told you, I don't remember anything." Annoyed by what she saw as a pointed remonstrance on his part - for the folly which she had frequently had cause to regret since its occurrence - Daisy put down the jar, rose to her feet and blurted, "Ryan Pratt is a good bloke."

Hugo took a moment to respond, as though he did not process her words right away, but then he turned back, and with a nonplussed air, repeated, "Pratt?"

"He wouldn't like me to say anything," Daisy carried on, even as her heart thumped in her chest, at Hugo Weasley's uncomprehending look, his raised brows. "But I heard how you and the others have been hiding stuff on him. And I - " She swallowed, and said with an even greater effort, "I don't like it."

"Hiding - oh." With a moment's consideration, Hugo's expression cleared, and he actually smiled. "That. _That_ was all McCubbin's idea, just a bit of fun..."

"I don't find it funny," Daisy returned without missing a beat. "And neither does Ryan."

Hugo looked at her. He tilted his head. "Then maybe you should learn to take a joke."

Daisy Abbott opened her mouth, and closed it again. She felt as she had felt a thousand times before during their study sessions, when he would deliver some cutting remark, or question her on some error, or provide some hint as to how the circumstances of their meeting - that explosion in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, which now seemed an age ago - had not formed a favourable picture of her in his eyes.

It was not a pleasant feeling. Her retort bubbled up, but it would not come. She almost heard it pierce the air now, almost saw the change of expression on her opponent's face, and yet at the end of it all she had not uttered a syllable, her mouth still hanging open like a fish's, and Hugo Weasley was looking at her as he might look at a wayward kitten he had found straying beyond the castle walls.

"Come on," he said, and reaching out, ruffled her hair, almost dislodging the blue cap atop her head. "Let Pratt fight his own battles. You and I had better finish this off."

Daisy Abbott knelt in the soil again, hiding her face behind her scarf, as her words sank back down inside her.

* * *

There was a snowstorm overnight, which howled around the walls of the castle and whistled down the chimneys. By morning, however, there was little sign of it left: a dull, cold rain was falling, a thin, sickly layer of ice coated the lake, and white snow quickly turned brown under the tramping feet of students as they made their way to the Quidditch match.

Daisy woke with an aching back and numb fingers, to find that all of the beds in her dormitory were neatly made, and the clock on her bedside table was frowning at her. She hastily dressed, and flew up the stairs from the basement, passing few on her way. Outside, the magnified voice of the commentator floated towards her on the cold crisp air, and told her that the match was well underway.

"What have I missed?" she asked of her Housemates, squeezing in beside them in the Hufflepuff side of the stands, but at that moment a hush fell over the spectators, and the other girls feigned deafness.

"Carter has possession of the Quaffle... There he goes - will he break the Hufflepuff defence?" Tracy Towers paused in her commentary, and then a groan went up on the Gryffindor end. "No luck for Carter, thanks to Pratt's magnificent save - and we're off again - "

It was strange. Daisy Abbott, of course, had never been to a Quidditch match before, but she had always held the impression that, despite her own lack of inclination for the sport, she would find the experience of watching one as thrilling and edifying as all of her peers seemed to make it out to be.

She was sadly mistaken.

"Has anyone actually scored yet?" she could not resist asking, after a half hour had passed, and the three Gryffindor Chasers had sped forward in succession to attempt a score before being foiled each time. Meena Kapoor, on Daisy's left, shot a cross glance at her and swept the end of her scarf over her shoulder, as though to prevent further conversation.

"It's not normally like this," explained Bessie Cattermole, who was sitting to Daisy's right, and was more sympathetic to a newcomer's view of Quidditch. "But I'm sure it'll pick up soon. Isn't Ryan doing great?"

Indeed, Daisy Abbott, for all her lack of expertise, could not deny that fact; as she watched, the Hufflepuff Keeper darted and dove and contorted himself into impossible shapes to prevent the Quaffle going through his team's hoop. Yet she could not help but feel that it would have made for more interesting play if he had missed at least once.

As well as that, it was oddly difficult to reconcile that distant sentry in yellow and black with the stocky youth wearing an excess of hair gel whom she had consoled yesterday. She had expected to feel at least some personal interest in the match, considering that she knew the players, but the figures in the sky moved so quickly on their brooms, and were so wrapped up against the elements that she would have found it impossible to distinguish one from another if not for Tracy Towers' commentary. Even when Bessie lent her a pair of Omnioculars, in a kind gesture that was nonetheless strategically timed to stifle any further questions, Daisy zeroed in on Hugo Weasley and saw only a stern creature with hard leather gloves and large goggles.

Unaware that he was thus observed, but sadly aware of each freezing drop of water that sneaked beneath his vest and wound its way down his back, Hugo Weasley fell back into position as Lily Potter darted past him, red hair streaming out behind her like a banner.

"And it looks like the Gryffindor Seeker has spotted the Snitch at long last!" The commentator's voice rose in excitement. "Will Stebbins catch up to her in time?"

 _False alarm_. Hugo knew it before the collective groan had sounded around the stands - from both sides - and before Tracy Towers uttered those same words only a moment later. There was no spotting the Snitch in this rain; it was hard enough to see the players a few inches ahead, let alone spot a tiny, fast-moving golden ball.

Perhaps it was because of this poor visibility that Hugo did not see the Beater approaching him until the Bludger had struck his arm.

" _Bloody_ \- McCubbin?" he said, twisting on his broom and catching the ball before it darted away again. "Have you forgotten we're on the same team?"

"You're getting sloppy, Weasley." Stephen McCubbin pulled up beside him, raising his voice over the wind. His ears stuck out over the straps of his goggles, red at the tips. "I've been hollering your name for the past ten minutes. What do you say we call it a day?"

"You mean - ask for a rematch?" Something within Hugo recoiled at the idea, and yet... looking up at Lily Potter's figure, now far above him, he could not help but think of the time they had already lost for their research - and of the time they would save if things ended now. He tossed the Bludger back, and his friend caught it with one hand. "You think Wood would go for it?"

"I don't think it's him we have to worry about," his friend said pointedly, with a glance down at the soaking referee who was hovering low to the ground by the stands. "Do you?"

"No," Hugo replied slowly, and as a gust of wind sent McCubbin's broomstick spinning away from him again, he muttered under his breath, "Pratt."

For if there was one quality of which Hufflepuffs could boast - one quality which no one would attempt to deny that they possessed - it was stubbornness. Ryan Pratt and his squad had doggedly guarded their hoops since the start of the match, overturning all attempts to draw them out, and their leader was no less certain now than he had been then of their eventual victory.

Hugo, for his part, soon had reason to regret the trick he and McCubbin had played on the Hufflepuff captain yesterday (the one which little Abbott seemed to have taken so much to heart), when both teams had landed on the ground at the sound of Wood's whistle, and both captains had stepped forward to hold a conference in the pouring rain.

"Do you want to be here all week?" Hugo shouted as the wind tore at his cape.

Ryan Pratt lifted his chin as the raindrops wound their way down his face, which held the marks of the goggles he had but recently been wearing. "If that's what it takes."

From the stands, Tracy Towers' voice drifted. "If the two captains don't reach an agreement soon, Referee Wood is going to call them back up into the air..."

"C'mon, Pratt." Hugo wildly gestured to the shivering team members arrayed on either side of them. "Your defence is strong, and so's ours. No one's going to make a move, and no one's going to sight the Snitch in this weather."

Rather than being moved by his powers of reason, Ryan Pratt just gave a disbelieving smile, even as he was seized by a sneeze. "I'm not going to fall for any more of your - _hatchoo_ \- tricks, Weasley."

"It isn't a trick," Hugo groaned out, then repeated, in a more even tone of voice, "It _isn't_ a trick." Thrusting out a hand, "Come on, let's shake on it, Pratt."

The older boy regarded his outstretched hand with narrowed eyes, and Hugo, opening his mouth to make some impatient entreaty, shut it again. Something prompted him to say, "Listen, mate, about yesterday - "

"No rematch," Ryan Pratt said flatly, cutting across him before he could make the apology. "We call it a tie."

"A tie?" Hugo's better instincts were quickly curbed once more as he openly laughed; the Hufflepuff captain eyed him with indignation. "What, scared we'll beat you in a rematch?" Then, as McCubbin stepped forward and nudged him, "Fine, deal. We call it a tie. No points to either of our teams."

"Deal," Ryan Pratt repeated, and then, ignoring Hugo's still outstretched hand, raised his voice so that the referee could hear him. "Mr Wood, Weasley and I have reached a mutual decision."

* * *

The prefect offices had never looked more cosy and cheerful. Gone were the forbidding desks and uncomfortable chairs, and a curtain had been drawn over the shelves. Streamers of yellow and black hung from the ceiling, so low in some places that they brushed against the faces of the revellers. In the centre of the plush-carpeted floor stood a large refreshment table, which was laden with pitchers of fresh pumpkin juice, Gillywater and punch, and plates piled with mince pies and tartlets. The fire had been stoked high, and its flickering flames cast a glow on the festoons and stockings draped over the mantlepiece above.

Some might say, indeed, that Ryan Pratt had gone a little overboard in this last regard, as nowhere else in the castle was there even the slightest breath of a Christmas decoration yet, but Daisy Abbott was not among them. The captain had merely seen in the party the perfect opportunity to blend two occasions: the imminent holiday season and Hufflepuff's victory. What could be more reasonable than that?

" _You_ look nice," said Meena Kapoor as she joined Daisy at the hearth. The note of accusation in her voice was entirely lost on her roommate, as between the crackling of the fire and the roar of merriment in the room, she had barely heard the remark.

"Thank you," Daisy said happily, looking down at herself. It was not often that she got the chance to dress up; from her trunk downstairs she had chosen a long, high-waisted skirt of pastel blue, and a low-necked white blouse. Since the blouse had short sleeves, she had draped around her shoulders a shawl of fine grey wool that Aunt Hannah had knitted her a few years ago. It slipped every few minutes so that she was continually adjusting it, but Daisy told herself that the effect it produced was worth the effort.

" _I_ didn't have time to change," said Tracy Towers with a sniff, drawing up beside Meena with Bessie on her other side. "I had to run here straight from the pitch. I suppose you're chuffed Ryan asked you."

This time, Daisy could not fail to notice the sourness in the other witch's tones, but as she turned her face towards her, Tracy and her friends were surprised to see that a wicked sparkle had entered their roommate's eye, so that she almost seemed to be laughing at them. "Yes, it was nice of him. Considering I nearly missed the match." Frowning, she added thoughtfully, " _Someone_ forgot to wake me this morning."

"I feel bad," whispered Bessie Cattermole after Daisy had drifted away from their group. "We should have waited for her." The other two witches looked at one another, then tossed their heads in mutual disdain of their companion's weakness.

"Here, you're in a good mood," Ryan Pratt said suspiciously, stopping by the refreshment table as Daisy poured herself some punch. "How much of that stuff have you been drinking?" As she turned, eyebrows raised, he laughed. "Just pulling your leg. There's nothing in that but fruit."

"Of course not," Daisy said over the rim of her cup, with a sigh. "You're far too responsible."

"Well, I don't think your aunt will give me my old job back at the Leaky Cauldron if she hears I've been supplying you with contraband drink." Ryan made a show of wincing. "And I need those Christmas hours." He tilted his head, regarding her more closely. "You look different, you know. What did you do?"

Daisy shrugged her shoulders, and looked about the room as music began to play from an unseen speaker. "The place looks great." Why it was that she had been able to laugh off the comments of her Housemates, but Ryan's kind notice made her want to sink into the ground, she could not figure out.

"You think so?" Unfazed by the change of subject, Ryan poured himself a cup of punch and swept a critical eye around the room. "We didn't have much time to prepare. I had to chase Alicia Thomas down and get her to agree to loan it out to us."

"I'm sure that took all of your charm." Daisy thought of the stern Head Girl, whom she had never seen smile. "Why not have the party in our common room?"

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Not allowed anymore. _Security_. You know how it is." As Daisy looked confused, "No, of course, I forgot. This is your first year here. But it wasn't always like this. All the Aurors patrolling everywhere, wand checks every time you go through the gates." He sighed. "There used to be Hogsmeade trips every other week, you know. Now we'll be lucky if we get to go at all before Christmas."

"So we could get in big trouble for this," Daisy mused. She glanced at the double doors of the prefect offices, which had been shut fast. Ryan just shrugged.

"The Gryffindors do it all the time." Darkly, "No doubt Weasley's found some spot in the castle to have his own rager. Ah, Daisy, don't look so worried. I've got Silencing Charms all around the corridor outside, and Tomgallon's been in the armour hall all day." There was a moment's pause, then Ryan added, "Anyway, if Peeping Tom does come along, I can send _you_ out to distract him."

As Daisy turned her scandalised gaze on him, the Hufflepuff captain started laughing. She put her hands on her hips. "Why does everyone think Mr Tomgallon's crush on me is funny? He is the _creepiest_... Do you know last week in detention he made me polish all the highest trophy cabinets just so he could watch me climb up the ladder?" Ryan laughed all the harder. "It's _not_ funny." She struck out at his arm. "Stop laughing, Ryan..."

"All right," he gasped, catching hold of her hand so that she could not strike him again. "I'll stop."

"Oh, really?" Daisy couldn't help grinning, even as she tried to look stern. "You promise?"

Shudder - shudder - _crack_. The doors of the prefect offices trembled - once, twice - and were thrown open. Into the prefect offices walked Hugo Weasley and a party of Gryffindors.

Had the arrival of those interlopers into the scene of merriment been accompanied by a bolt of lightning, it could not have been more dramatic. Every Hufflepuff in the room froze in horror, expecting professors or Aurors to come bursting in. The music cut out, as whoever had set it up hastily muttered a counter spell, and one large fourth-year even dashed to the refreshment table as though hoping to conceal it with his frame.

The Gryffindors, for their part, were no less surprised to find the prefect offices already occupied. A keg of Butterbeer 1707 was suspended in the air just behind Hugo Weasley and Stephen McCubbin; as they broke off their conversation on entering the room, it swung madly and would have knocked Enid Longbottom out cold if not for her sister's hasty interference.

"Who invited _you_?" Ryan Pratt was the first to speak.

Hugo Weasley stared back at him. His eyes flicked to the hands still joined (Daisy hastily dropped hers, cheeks aflame), and then he seemed to regain his composure. "I invited myself, when Zane Shacklebolt gave us permission to rent this room for our party."

"Gave _you_ permission?" Ryan repeated. "Alicia Thomas told me that _we_ could use this room."

"Then it seems there's been a misunderstanding." Hugo tilted his head, and glanced at McCubbin. "I think a little redecoration is in order, don't you?" He raised his wand, gave it a flick, and the streamers around the room changed from yellow and black to red and gold. Another flick, and the stockings and holly had all vanished. The Gryffindors behind him gave a whoop, and began to pile into the room; the Hufflepuffs pressed back towards the walls like herded sheep.

Rather than being further provoked by this display, Ryan Pratt simply seemed to deflate, patting down his gelled hair and shrugging at Daisy, whose own jaw was hanging open. Hugo, for his part, gave her an apologetic wince as he lowered his wand.

"Sorry, I just think Christmas decorations in November are tacky."

"They were not tacky," Daisy said in cold indignation, drawing herself up. "They were _festive_."

But the Gryffindor captain's reaction to this was not at all what she had hoped.

"When he smiles at me like that I feel about five years old," she fumed a little while later, as she and Ryan stood by the window, untouched goblets of Butterbeer in their hands that had been pressed upon them by the Gryffindors. Loud, obtrusive music was playing from some unseen speaker, and she could barely hear herself over it. "It makes me want to _scream_. Or throw something."

"I know." Ryan gave her a sympathetic smile. He made to sip his own Butterbeer, then seemed to think better of it, making a face. "Believe me, I _know_. But that's what they want. If Weasley wants to make this a Gryffindor party, nothing we say is going to stop him. Let's just enjoy ourselves."

"Daisy, you look _lovely_ ," said Alice Longbottom as she swept past. "That skirt suits you _so_ much better than it ever suited me."

"Enjoy ourselves," Daisy repeated, once her cousin was out of earshot again. As a grinning Ryan clinked his goblet with hers, she forced a smile. "Cheers to that."

"Say, isn't there something different about Little Longbottom today?" Across the room, Stephen McCubbin put one hand to his friend's shoulder, pointing with the other. "She's done something with her hair, or... something."

Hugo did not bother correcting his friend as to the name; by now, McCubbin ought to have known better, after all. He assessed Daisy Abbott's swept-up hair as she stood by the window, laughing with Ryan Pratt. "I prefer it down." Then, as the other wizard turned to look at him. "I mean, in general. Hair down." He coughed. "With girls."

"Hmph." His incurious friend turned from him again to regard Daisy. "I'll have to disagree with you there." Rubbing his hands together with an air of decision, "Well, wish me luck."

"You're going in, are you?" Hugo laughed. His friend ignored him, smoothing his hair as he moved around a group of Hufflepuff girls, bending to regard his reflection in the glass pitcher on the refreshment table. A grin formed on Hugo's face, and he rummaged in his pockets, drawing out a small Muggle playing ball. He took quick aim, and tossed it at his friend's back. Stephen McCubbin's hand shot out to catch it at the last second, and he turned around, raising his eyebrows at his friend.

"Just testing my Beater's reflexes," Hugo called across the room, causing a few partygoers to turn. McCubbin rolled his eyes as he threw the ball back to him, and the Hufflepuff girls squealed, ducking.

"No need. I'm not getting sloppy like you, Weasley."

But Hugo could not let this pass - particularly with so many witnesses. As his friend wound his way through the crowd, he squinted, took aim, and then threw again. The ball whizzed through the air, Stephen McCubbin ducked at the very last second, and it passed over his head, knocking the goblet out of Daisy Abbott's hand and soaking her companion.

Daisy had given a shriek of alarm at the moment of collision, and now, in its aftermath, the room fell silent. Hugo Weasley bit his lip, McCubbin swung around again to fix him with an accusing stare, and Ryan Pratt slowly looked down at the Butterbeer stain growing on his shirt.

"Right," he said into the silence. "That's it."

A few nervous titters; Ryan ignored them, lifting his eyes to regard Hugo Weasley. He raised his hand, and pointed. "You come in here, take over our party. You change the decorations. You eat the food _I_ brought. And then - " He shook his finger, and shook his head. "And then this."

"It was an accident, mate," Hugo said, but the effect of his words was rather ruined by the laugh that followed them. Disbelievingly, Daisy gazed at him, then at her cousins, a little way behind. _They_ were laughing, too. Even McCubbin had a fist pressed to his mouth. She looked back at Ryan Pratt, with his shaking finger and dripping shirt and glowering face, and saw him through their eyes: a figure of comedy. Something blazed through her.

Then, as the Hufflepuff made a surge forward, she grasped his arm with both hands, dragging him back. "Ryan - _don't_." Angrily, he tried to shake her off, but she held on, painfully conscious of the many gazes on her as she said again, quietly, "Ryan." At last he turned to look at her, and she read in his eyes the memory of what just passed between them a few moments ago. "This is _our_ party." Now she did not care who heard her. "Don't let them spoil it."

There was a long silence, as though they were all waiting for something; finally, Ryan, still holding Daisy's gaze, gave a nod so small it was almost imperceptible.

"Here, Pratt, let me help you clean that up." The voice of Stephen McCubbin floated towards them, with unpleasant proximity; Daisy gritted her teeth, but she could sense that Ryan was relaxing now, as he dropped his gaze from hers and looked down at the stain of his shirt once more.

"I'm good, mate." Bending, he retrieved the ball, and threw it back to Hugo. "Cheers."

The disappointment among those watching, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor alike, was palpable; for a moment a conflict had been looming on the horizon, and one that promised to be very entertaining. They sagged and turned back to their companions, resuming their former conversations with a little less vigour.

Daisy, for her part, was relieved. She adjusted the shawl around her shoulders, lifted her chin, and was making for the refreshment table to get another Butterbeer when she was blind-sided by another Gryffindor.

"Wasn't that sweet?" Alice Longbottom gushed, slipping her arm under Daisy's. The other girl looked at her in confusion, and Alice, with the slightest of smiles, pressed on, "Of Stephen, I mean, to help Ryan. _You_ know why."

Her cousin had never been possessed of what one might call an indoor voice, a fact of which Daisy was well aware. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that McCubbin had halted on his way back to Hugo to listen. He was not the only one. In an undertone, "Don't encourage him, Alice."

"What? Oh, Daisy, don't be silly." Alice squeezed her arm, and then, apparently making an effort to whisper, without quite succeeding in the endeavour, "I _told_ you before, there's no need to be shy, he really does like you - "

The net was closing in. Daisy Abbott cast her eye around the prefect offices, seeking in vain for an ally; but Ryan Pratt was chatting to Robbie Carter with every appearance of good humour, and oblivious to her plight. Enid Longbottom was hovering nearby, but avoided Daisy's gaze. By the fireplace she saw her roommates, but even Bessie Cattermole's curiosity took precedent over her kindness; while she, Meena and Tracy were apparently in conversation with one another, Daisy somehow knew that they were listening to every word, and that she could expect no rescue from that quarter.

"And _I_ told _you_ ," she said at last, firmly. "I'm not shy."

Alice's eyes laughed at her. "Then what are you waiting for?"

" _What_ are you lot muttering about?" said Stephen McCubbin as he passed, with a tolerant smile.

Daisy had closed her eyes, as a familiar desire to be swallowed up by the floor overwhelmed her, so she felt rather than saw her cousin nudge her. "Will I tell him, Daisy?" A pause, then, gleefully, Alice resumed, "We're talking about you, Stephen."

"Ha! Good things, I hope?"

"Oh, you have _no_ idea," was Alice Longbottom's response, and then Daisy opened her eyes, tugged herself free of her cousin's grip and burst out,

"I _don't_ like him! I don't." Breathless, wild-eyed, she gradually became aware that the entire room had fallen silent again, and were staring at her. Feeling the need to backtrack quickly, she said, "I - I mean, that is, I don't like anyone."

More silence. She heard a couple of girls titter, and having heard those sounds before in the environs of her dormitory, had some idea who those girls might be. And them, to her own mortification, Daisy Abbott found her eyes instinctively seeking out Hugo. He was standing a few paces away, the ball still in his hand, and looked away as soon as their gazes met. Colour flooded her cheeks.

"Are you sure about that, Daisy?" Alice said significantly.

"It's Weasley," Stephen McCubbin broke in. "She likes Weasley." In the tones of that jilted lover there was no bitterness - not even surprise... only a note of weary disgust. As his friend looked towards him, shaking his head, "Well, it's true, isn't it, mate? You told us yourself."

"It's _not_ true!" cried Daisy in distress.

"It's not true," Hugo Weasley adjoined hastily, his eyes flicking to Daisy with the hint of an apology in them.

"It's not true," was the charitable contribution of that cousin who had but lately been shoving Daisy towards Stephen McCubbin, and who now adopted an air of lofty maturity.

"It's not true," said Ryan Pratt to Robbie Carter, with the full assurance of one who had long disdained the charms of Hugo Weasley, and worse still, those who fell for them.

But there was one in the room whose simple soul had never borne a stain of falsehood, and who could not bear to see so many deny what was perfectly and plainly -

"It's true!" blurted out Enid Longbottom, as she pulled out a loose page from her bag and held it up in the air for all to see. "See, she wrote here: 'I - love - 'H' - 'W'!"

The page was yanked from her hand first by one, then by another, and ripples of laughter and exclamations followed its passage around the room. Some read out what was written on it, while others simply laughed and handed it on to their neighbour. Hugo Weasley was the last to seize it up, and even he could not suppress a smile as his eyes scanned over the writing. He folded it after reading and put it in his pocket. Alice Longbottom hastily dropped her hand.

"You shouldn't have done that," she scolded, turning to her sister. "Really, Enid."

"But I - but you said - " spluttered the baffled Enid.

"I mean it. It's not funny - _poor_ Daisy. Look at her."

"Poor Daisy" was trembling from head to toe. The grey shawl had slipped a little from her shoulders, so that all could see that the flush in her face had spread down her white neck, as far as the hollow of her throat. She did not look at either of the Longbottom girls. Her great, limpid eyes rose to regard Hugo Weasley; in another moment, a shudder had passed through her body, and she ran out of the room with a sob.

Few men can stand unmoved by the sight of a pretty girl in tears. Hugo Weasley was no exception, and considering that he had a hand in her distress, he knew well the duty that now fell to him; yet he hesitated all the same.

The corridor was draughty and dimly-lit; Daisy stumbled through it to the other end, burst out the doors onto a stone balcony, and planted her hands on the balustrade, breathing hard. It was fully dark now, and the lights of the castle spread out beneath her, reflected in the distant black waters of the lake. She screwed up her face against the cold rain and told herself, fiercely, that the footsteps behind her were Ryan Pratt's, or Alice's, or Enid's...

"Daisy." Hugo had reached her, he was standing beside her. How often had she dreamed up a scenario like this, when lying in her dormitory, or sitting through one of Professor Binns' lengthy lectures, or drooping over her books in the library? And how uncomfortable it was in real life, to have him watching her as she wept - how aggravating she found his kindness - how infuriating his use of her first name - how utterly _humiliating_ to have her grey shawl passed around her shoulders with the accompanying explanation that she had dropped it on her way...

No, it simply wasn't to be borne, Daisy bitterly declared to herself, and she shrugged off the shawl and threw it on the ground to relieve her feelings. Hugo stopped in whatever he had been saying, and she turned to him, gathering up what small portion of her dignity remained. "You had no right - " She sniffed, briefly despised herself for her own weakness, then resumed, "You had _no_ right to go through my things."

"I didn't!" Hugo reached for her arm as she turned away with another rebellious sniff. "Daisy, I swear."

"Then who did?" she demanded of the dark, rainy night.

"I don't know." Hugo was gently trying to turn her towards him, now, to steer her back towards the door - abominable! Daisy staunchly resisted, her hands gripping the stone balustrade as though it were a lifeline. She heard him sigh as he relented. "Abbott, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything to McCubbin - he never could keep his mouth shut. Won't you come back and enjoy the party?"

Her heart leapt - unbearable! Viciously, Daisy pushed Hugo away from her with both arms. " _You_ go back. Leave me alone."

"Daisy..." There he was again, talking as though she were a child - he almost had that old smile on his face now. _Nothing_ ever changed, did it? Daisy thought with despair. She stormed past him, tripped over her shawl on the ground and tore away from his steadying hand as she regained her balance.

"I _did_ like you." She had reached the door now, and did not turn. The stone corridor stretched out before her, a bar of light falling across the floor where the door of the prefect offices stood open. Daisy glared at it, and squared her shoulders. "I don't anymore."

A pause, and then his response came. Aggravating! Humiliating! Abominable! Unbearable! It was all of these things, and still more, Daisy Abbott admitted to herself later that night, as she lay in her dormitory and pressed her face into her pillow, it was _wonderful_.

"I don't believe you."

* * *

Where was Lily Potter during all this, one might wonder? What would her opinion have been of the tensions that arose between House Gryffindor and House Hufflepuff? Would she have laughed with the rest of them, when Daisy Abbott's secret ardour for a certain Quidditch captain was laid bare for all to witness? It was impossible to know, for following the disappointment of the match, Lily had betaken herself to the library and spent the next few hours in one of its deserted corners, combing through the oldest books she could find.

Hugo was right, she reflected at last, dropping her head onto her hands. Albus had always been better at this kind of thing. She hadn't the patience for it. Oh, it was no use. She would start again in the morning.

Footsteps approached her alcove, and Lily lifted her head, blinking as a circle of light swept over her. Mr Shirley stood there with a lantern held high. "I'm sorry, sir," she said hastily. "I know it's late - I'll go now."

"The book you ordered arrived," the librarian replied, and handed her a parcel. Lily looked at it blankly. _Ministry Archives_ was stamped on the cover, and the tag below read "Ancient Lawes of Magic".

"What book?"

"It was ordered earlier today, in your name," Mr Shirley replied, and handed her a docket. Lily scanned it. Hugo's handwriting.

"Well, he's been busy, hasn't he," she muttered. "Thank you sir - "

But the librarian was gone when she looked up, absorbed by the stacks once more, and she listened to his footsteps fading away before tearing the paper around the book. Feverishly, she cast it away and opened the book.

Lily Potter read and read. She read about wizards, about Muggles, about the laws that had separated the two communities since the establishment of the Statute of Secrecy, and about older laws - ones that were sewn into the very fabric of their world... she read about the magic wielded by wand holders, and about older branches of magic that were shrouded in mystery. And as she read, she thought: she thought of a baby with a lightning scar on his forehead, of a girl who had raised the dead with her tears, of a stupid, brave boy whose magic had been stolen from him along with his life...

 _No more_. Lily Potter put the book away from her, with a violence that nearly sent it off the desk. She sat staring at nothing, her breaths loud in the silence of the library, and then the pages of the book began to move as though some unseen hand were turning them. Wiping her eyes with her sleeve, Lily watched in increasing fascination, until at last the book fell open on the final chapter. She started out of her seat, made a snatch at it, and read in copperplate writing: The Guardian.

" _The Guardian upholds the ancient laws of magic_ ," she read breathlessly. " _If ever there be a wrong, he must right it_. _Balance can only be restored with a blood sacrifice. The Guardian will not rest until he has his prey."_

Suddenly, the library seemed very quiet and lonely around her. A gust of wind rattled a nearby window, and the light at the tip of her wand flickered. Lily Potter sat very still, and then called out in a shaking voice, "Mr Shirley? Mr Shirley, are you there?"

* * *

As always, an eclectic mix of music inspired this chapter, from Civil Rights anthems to the soundtracks of popular Netflix shows.

 **Music:** "Lily's Theme" - Alexandre Desplat, Harry Potter soundtrack

"I wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be Free" - Nina Simone

"Hey Stephen" - Taylor Swift

"This Isn't You" - Stranger Things, Dixon & Stein


	9. In Sickness and In Health

**A/N:** Hey guys, sorry the original update of this was lacking in all the usual addenda. But I've fixed my Internet now, yay! So without further ado... OK, with maybe just a little more ado -

 **Previously:** Albus Potter obtained the Resurrection Stone from Moribund...

Scorpius and Rose had a big fight and moved back to their respective family homes...

Advisor to the Minister for Magic William Corley was accused of having ties to MACUSA...

And Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott are homeward bound.

 **Disclaimer:** Copyright J.K. Rowling

* * *

 **Chapter 7: In Sickness And In Health**

' _And some in dreams assurèd were_

 _Of the Spirit that plagued us so;_

 _Nine fathoms deep he had followed us_

 _From the land of mist and snow.'_

 _The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,_ Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1834)

* * *

The village of Braemar did not receive many visitors at that time of year.

Perhaps that was why what happened to Mr and Mrs Campbell, of Campbell's Holiday Hotel, was so strange. It was strange that they should have had two guests staying in their inn of whom they knew so little; strange, for Mrs Campbell's craggy, kindly face was one which invited confidences. It was strange that on the morning it happened, savage winter winds were sweeping down from the Cairngorm mountains, the snow around the village was six inches deep, and, in the immortal words of that Brontë sister: 'There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.'

Yet those two guests _had_ taken a walk, clearly, for they were nowhere in the building by the time the constable arrived at the inn, and a pair of footprints was found in the snow outside. Granted, there was only one pair, and they stopped abruptly just past the post office, but all the same, it was as clear a proof as any that the guests had not simply sprouted wings and flown away like the ospreys that circled the peaks overhead.

Of course, the strangest fact of the case was unknown to the good people of Braemar, which was probably for the best: that there had not been _two_ guests haunting Campbell's Holiday Hotel on that fateful morning, but _three_.

It had been following them for days - since their vessel had been transported from the Mediterranean Sea into the English Channel. Daphne, in her panic, had thought at first that it was all over, that the whirlpool would crush them into an embrace they would never escape. She had been a little ashamed of her weakness when she learned that it was but another of her Theo's clever creations: a portal, to bear them safe into home waters. And bear them safe it did; and despite her reluctance to return to England, Daphne had to admit a little stirring within her when she had at last seen the white cliffs of Dover rearing up into the horizon.

That was the same night that she had first spotted _it_. A still night, when, being unable to sleep, she had come up from her cabin to look at the stars, and found only clouds, a large yellow moon, and a pair of yellow eyes watching her from the rigging.

Theo had not believed her when she told him the next morning. A winged creature, like a man but not like a man, perched in the sails watching them? And indeed, in the light of day, with the fresh breezes blowing their vessel around, it did seem foolish. As well as that, there was no one to add their own testimony to hers, for the men who commanded the ship were a skeleton crew in more than one sense: the captain and his sailors, who had brought them all the way from Cairo, watched the skies with blank eyes. They were dead men, or as good as dead; they would never leave their posts again. Daphne began to doubt herself. Was she seeing things?

Then on the third night, as they were passing the bright lights of Sunderland, Daphne heard him. She was sitting up reading, and Theo had gone to check on the crew. She heard his shout, echoing through the wooden deck and the ceiling of her cabin. She ran, and found him in the bow, shaking like a leaf. He looked ill and pale, and clutched at her like a child as he pointed - pointed, towards the figure who stood on the gunwale, dark and indistinct, watching them.

"Who is he?" Theo exclaimed, looking at her. She had never seen such fear in his eyes. " _What_ is he?"

They got off the boat not long after. By the time the vessel had been sunk into the cold waters of the North Sea, and the crew along with it, Daphne and Theodore were rattling along country roads in a hired car, and it seemed they had left that man - apparition, ghost, creature, whatever he was - behind them. Theo talked and smiled and even laughed as he drove them along, over hills and through forests, past shining lakes. In their disguises, they felt more free. Those were happy times for Daphne.

So it was that Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass arrived in the village of Braemar under the names of Muggles they had never met, and took a room in Campbell's Holiday Hotel.

And on the morning in question, when they had been there a week, that third guest - the one of which the Campbells knew nothing, the one whom Daphne and Theo had hoped drowned with the rest of the crew and that accursed ship - had appeared for the first time in the light of day.

He stood in the yard of the inn and looked up at their window. Wind fluttered the edges of his cloak; he bore no wings now. The rays of the winter sun did not seem to touch him; they could see no more of his features now than they had on those nights at sea. But he stood where he had stood all night, and those yellow eyes that had peered at them through darkness watched them still.

Daphne whirled from the window and began throwing things into a suitcase. "We have to go! We have to get out of here."

"Why?" Theodore said thoughtfully, his eyes still trained on the figure outside. There was none of that old fear there now, only fascination. "What harm has he done us?"

Daphne's hands stilled, and she stared at him through bloodshot eyes. "He won't leave us alone! He has followed us, watched us, stolen our sleep, stolen our peace, our - our _joy_..."

" _Joy_?" Nott repeated, without turning, and that one word was laced with such disdain that Daphne felt something within her shrivel up. She resumed packing.

"We can't stay here, Theo. You think the Muggles here will fail to notice _that_ thing standing in their yard?"

"Perhaps they will," Nott said, in that same thoughtful voice. "Perhaps it only appears to those with magic."

"Oh, really?" Daphne gave a snort of derision, as she moved to the large oak chest of drawers. "Would you like to test that theory?"

"I _would_." Nott turned, his features flashing into a sudden smile, and she looked at him, startled. "I will."

That had been his mistake, Theodore Nott reflected later. Leaving Daphne alone, even for a few minutes, when she was in that state, had been unwise. Of course, this was not clear to him at the time. While he was talking with the friendly Campbells downstairs in the hallway, and heard an unholy thumping on the stairs behind them, he felt only confusion.

They all fell silent; slowly, Nott turned about with the two Muggles, and stared as Daphne Greengrass swept past them and grabbed her coat where it was hanging on the hooks by the parlour door. She was white to the lips, and breathing hard. He grabbed her arm as she moved for the door.

"Is something the matter, _dear_?" He dared not use her name, but the emphasis he placed on that last word must have sounded strange enough to the Campbells.

Daphne met his gaze. Every feature of her face was taut with rage. "You - _you_..." But she choked, seemingly on her own anger, and could not say any more. With a sob, she yanked her arm out of his grasp, and produced her wand.

Their Muggle audience let out a gasp. Theodore Nott's voice echoed off the high rafters of the old inn as his travelling companion tore away through the vestibule. "Don't be foolish, Daphne! Don't do something you might regret!"

Whistling wind, a blast of icy air, and she had stepped outside. Beyond the open door of the vestibule, the outer door swung and snapped. Theodore Nott stopped in the threshold. Beside him, the landlady drew a sharp breath. "Lord, she'll catch her death out there."

"She won't get far," rejoined her husband, with confidence, and Nott watched quietly as Daphne Greengrass ran away into the snow, turned on the spot a little distance from the inn, and vanished.

Then wind swept through the empty yard of the Campbells' holiday hotel, and he took the steps back to his room two at a time. He came in to find the place in a disarray, and his own suitcase lying open in the middle of the floor. Nott dropped to his knees and rummaged through it, his stomach lurching.

Gone was the letter Anthea Moribund had sent him weeks ago, when they had still been in Alexandria. And gone was the parcel she had attached with it - so small an item, that had so altered the landscape of his life, changing his quest, honing his focus, sealing his fate...

Gone, too, was the creature who had followed them all around the coastline of Britain, but Nott felt more afraid than he ever had before. He went to the window and saw only snow on the ground, and snow on the rooftops, and snow on the mountains. Through the thin walls of the inn, he could hear the voices of the landlord and landlady, raised in alarm. With a trembling hand, he reached into his pocket, and produced his wand.

* * *

Her name was Dora.

At first, Albus Potter had told himself that he was imagining things. One evening, after a long day at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, he had stepped into Crawley's teashop on the way home, and got chatting to the serving witch behind the counter. His mind was on other, weightier matters - the Resurrection Stone, for one, the customer who had complained to his uncle that his staff were lacking in "positive attitude", for another - and only some faint part of it registered the bright eyes on his, the masses of honey-coloured hair around the heart-shaped face, and the dimple in her cheek.

He had left, his herbal tea having gone cold in the cup throughout the course of their conversation, and forgotten all about the encounter.

Until the next morning, when he had passed her sweeping the front step of the shop. She had wiped her hands on her apron, smiled up at him, and - well - suddenly, despite the fact that it was five minutes until his starting time, Albus found himself exchanging pleasantries, babbling like a fool about the weather... the weather?

Yes, it was a problem.

Uncle George soon noticed, too. As Albus was restocking the shelves the following afternoon, he came to the foot of the ladder and peered up at his nephew suspiciously. "There's a girl, isn't there?"

"A girl?" Albus said, innocently.

"You've been humming that stupid Sirens song all morning... the Dementor's Kiss, is it?" George screwed up his face. "Merlin, makes me miss the good old days. You can't beat the Weird Sisters."

"There's no girl," Albus declared, but he was smiling as he descended the ladder. His uncle clapped a hand on his shoulder as he reached the bottom, his face serious, and said,

"Be careful."

Careful? Albus and Dora had a laugh about that later. It was closing time in Crawley's; the lights had been dimmed, he was leaning over the counter, and the proprietress was glowering at them from the corner, swinging her keys in her hand.

"What did he mean?" Dora asked, blushing only slightly. She was positively adorable when she blushed. It brought out a new light in her eyes; her skin flushed a gentle pink, like that of a delicate seashell.

"I don't know," Albus said, but leaned a little closer. They locked eyes, as his hand inched towards hers on the counter. He opened his mouth, a question forming on his lips...

" _Ahem_." With a click-clack of shoes, Mrs Crawley stirred from her position at last. "It's ten o'clock."

Reluctantly, Albus withdrew his hand. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow's my day off," Dora said sorrowfully.

"Then... the next." Fishing his wallet out of his pocket, he dropped a Sickle on the counter, with a glance at Mrs Crawley. "For the tea." Another Sickle, and this time he looked at Dora, and smiled. "And for the excellent service."

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was cold and empty when Albus got back, but a deep warmth was spreading within him, and had any Muggle been able to observe the exterior of the house, they would have noticed that in the space of five minutes, the dark, silent windows were filled with light, until the whole abode was positively ablaze. Had there been no protective charms, they would have heard his whistling through the door, as he moved from room to room, flicking on lights with his wand.

Although no one was home, Albus Potter did not feel alone. And as he ascended to the chamber that had once belonged to Regulus Black, whose initials were still carved into the bedpost, he only spared one glance at the swathe of grey material on his dresser, before nestling down on his pillows and whispering to his wand, " _Nox._ "

* * *

William Corley, as a man who frequently kept his subordinates waiting, naturally had no patience to do so when it came to his turn.

The Minister for Magic certainly had her hands full; no one could deny that. Still, he had proceeded in the proper manner: sending his assistant early that morning to request an audience, then, when he had received an affirmative, personally delivering a memo of confirmation into her very office.

Then again, that had been before they all heard about Braemar. The first Muggle killing since the Second Wizarding War. And such a unique stamp upon the victims...

But in this hour of need, Corley reasoned to himself, did not the Minister need her trusty Advisor by her side more than ever? He was not some lowly civil servant, to stand outside her door shuffling his feet, and be approached by Mr or Miss So-and-So looking for a favour. It was degrading; it was demeaning; it was...

"Quite right." The door of Hermione Weasley's office slid open just as Corley was raising his fist to knock again, and her voice drifted out to him. On the threshold stood Geoffrey Alderton, whose alert eyes swept down to regard the other wizard. "Quite right, Mr Pigott. You will have every protection - I am sending my best Auror to guard you."

"That's you, I suppose," Corley said to Alderton, a little snidely, and the Minister's aide replied calmly,

"That's me." Inclining his head, "Why don't you step inside, Advisor."

"Very kind, I'm sure," Corley muttered as he did what Alderton said, the door swinging closed behind him. A stormy sky showed through the enchanted windows, and it was chilly in the office.

"Yes, yes." Hermione Weasley was still talking, standing with her back to them as she held before her a hand mirror. William Corley's eyes narrowed when he saw this, and he was so engrossed that he did not notice the seat indicated to him by Alderton until the Auror had all but planted it beneath his rump. "Yes, Mr Pigott. I spoke with your secretary this morning; she has been briefed. Yes. That's right. Mr Pigott, I really must go. Yes - tomorrow. Tomorrow morning."

"Something the matter with your fireplace, Minister?" Corley remarked from his chair, after Hermione had put the mirror away from her with an exclamation. She started, her eyes going from her Auror to the new visitor, and then, all in a rush,

"Advisor Corley. Our meeting. I forgot..."

"That's quite all right," William Corley said easily. "I understand you have a lot on your mind. Was he very concerned? The Muggle?"

Mrs Hermione Weasley sat down heavily, massaged her temples for a moment, and then nodded. Her hair was coming loose from its bun, and there were dark circles under her eyes. "Geoffrey, I'll need you to be in Downing Street for the next few days. It's probably not necessary - chances are the Muggle Prime Minister is not this wizard's target. But just to put Pigott's mind at ease..."

"That is assuming he has any mind to speak of," Corley said darkly, prompting a laugh from the portrait of Gamp that hung in the corner of the room. A shadow flickered across Hermione's face, but it was gone in the next instant, and as the door closed behind Geoffrey Alderton, leaving the two of them alone in the office, she said,

"My apologies for the delay, Mr Corley. Your assistant said it was urgent business..."

William Corley was looking towards the fireplace, his brow creased. "Most strange. Perhaps we should get one of the maintenance wizards in to have a look at it, if you wish, Minister..."

For a moment, Hermione stared at him in blank incomprehension - an expression which she did not often wear. Then her face cleared. "The fireplace. No, there's nothing wrong with it."

"Then why," Corley inquired, with the same indulgent smile that he normally reserved for addressing his granddaughter on some point of behaviour, "Why on earth were you using a two-way mirror to talk to the Muggle Prime Minister?"

Mrs Weasley looked down. She had never been a good liar, Corley reflected. "It was more convenient than Floo."

"But surely it was an _inconvenience_ to arrange to send a two-way mirror to Downing Streeet, with all the Muggle questions attending..."

"Mr Corley. You said you had urgent business to discuss?"

"Yes." Corley straightened up in his chair with a rustling of robes; he was not a tall man, and so every inch of height that he could grasp was necessary. "And in the light of - er - _recent events_ , it has become more urgent still. Now, the president of MACUSA wrote to me just yesterday." He produced a sheet of new paper from his pocket, unearthed his glasses, and made a point of examining the writing closely, though he had read it many times before. "He informed me that he is sending a squad of Aurors to reinforce the guard around Azkaban."

"I am aware of that."

William Corley's face remained serene as he continued to examine the letter. "He _also_ made a suggestion, which I now find to be especially pertinent, in the light of, er..."

"Recent events?" the Minister supplied, in clipped tones.

"Precisely." Corley raised his eyes to regard Hermione over his spectacles. "President Spencer's suggestion was that he also send a division of Aurors to reinforce the Hogwarts guard."

A long silence. Then, slowly, Mrs Weasley said, "We already have a Hogwarts guard."

"Of course, that is correct, Minister," William Corley said. He cast his eye over the letter, frowning deeply as though he could not quite recall the details. "However, President Spencer points out that the action would free up more of our own Aurors for border patrol, and, moreover, the force he proposes sending would be composed of especially - er - elite candidates, highly trained in non-verbal duelling and wandless combat..."

"Really." Hermione Weasley shifted in her seat, her eyes trained on Corley's face now. It was, as he admitted to his wife later, a little unnerving. "How generous. And what does he want in return?"

"Nothing, Minister." The Advisor affected an appalled expression. "In the spirit of international cooperation..."

"Mr Corley." Hermione's eyes hardened. "I will ask you again, one more time: what does he want?"

A self-respecting man like William Corley disliked conceding defeat to a woman as much as might be imagined; however, in this case, he knew that honesty was the best policy. "He was rather inclined to establish a monitor of sorts at Hogwarts - to ensure that the professors and other members of staff are following the appropriate security procedures, you know, and to reassure the students and parents..."

"A monitor," the Minister for Magic repeated. Then, tilting her head, "A High Inquisitor, he means."

"Now, he did not use that term..."

Hermione Weasley rose from her desk in a sudden movement. Her eyes were suddenly bright with a strange energy as she regarded Corley, and the weary lines of her face only made the sight more incongruous. "They will _not_ appoint another Dolores Umbridge to Hogwarts."

Corley laughed. "Who said anything about that awful woman? Now, Mrs Weasley, if you will just listen a moment..."

"What President Spencer wants is control. He controls the school, he controls us." Hermione's eyes bored into his. "I have the utmost faith in the staff of Hogwarts."

William Corley winced. "Loath as I am to remind you, Minister, but it was a former member of staff who..."

"I know!" Hermione Weasley slammed her hands down on the table. Corley flinched, and after a moment, she resumed in a quieter voice, "I know. And now we have a Dark Wizard on the loose again, and people are afraid. They are right to be. But that does not mean that we should start seeing traitors everywhere. We need to trust in ourselves more than ever. Trust is what has kept the Order of the Phoenix together all these years, despite..." Her voice quavered, just a fraction, then was steady once more. "Despite everything that has happened. I trust our Aurors, I trust our professors, and I trust you, Corley."

"Spoken like a true Gryffindor, Minister," he replied with a smile. "But as a former Ravenclaw myself, I would suggest taking some time to consider- there is no call to be hasty, after all..."

"The answer is no." Hermione Weasley resumed her seat, and did not look at Corley as she repeated, "I trust you. But in your position, Mr Corley, I would be careful whose projects you advance. Considering recent accusations that have been made..."

"Yes, Minister. Quite right." William Corley cut across her, his tones icy as he stood. "Thank you for your time." He left the office seething.

Hermione did not watch him go.

* * *

Rose Weasley could not stand Grimmauld Place. Even with such improvements as had more recently been made to it - the construction of the vestibule, wherein Walburga Black was mostly contained, the expansion of the basement kitchen to include enchanted windows that let in some light, the removal of the severed heads of house-elves, that grisly reminder of times past... It still remained the Black residence, bloodless and remote and miserable.

Knowing the place's history only made matters worse. It was the house in which Sirius Black had been caged for the last year of his life - the house which his brother Regulus had occupied while in the service of Lord Voldemort. Even her uncle Harry admitted that his memories here were mostly unhappy ones. So why return?

Rose couldn't understand it. In Charing Cross with Scorpius, she had been close to everything, but in Islington, she felt as though _she_ were wasting away, too. So she took herself away as often as she could, inventing errands on the days when work did not provide a sufficient excuse.

And that was how she had wound up here, in Arnos Grove, drinking tea in Hannah Longbottom's kitchen.

"It looked fine," she said, lifting the cup to her lips. "A little quiet, maybe."

"I'm sure the Pratts are taking good care of the place." Mrs Longbottom opened the leather-bound book. "And the figures certainly look good." She ran a finger along the parchment and sighed.

"You must miss it," Rose said sympathetically. She herself still found it strange, to pass through the Leaky Cauldron and not see its smiling landlady behind the bar. Being bedridden, Mrs Longbottom could not run the inn anymore, though she still stayed involved by doing the accounts, as Rose had learned today. She had been on her way to Diagon Alley when she had heard the new innkeeper, Mr Pratt, ordering one of his underlings to owl Mrs Longbottom with the latest figures. Anxious for distraction, Rose had stepped in and offered to deliver them in person instead.

"I do," Mrs Longbottom admitted matter-of-factly, her eyes still on the figures. "I miss Neville, too. And my girls." The older witch's face twitched into a smile. "Alice tinkling at the piano. Enid messing about in the garden." Gradually, the smile faded again. "They're always away at school, of course, during the year... but the house never felt so empty before."

For a moment, there was no sound but the ticking of the hall clock. Rose, head cocked to one side, felt like she understood - so why was it so difficult to summon the right words? Did it have something to do with the tremor in Hannah Longbottom's hand as she reached for the teapot? Or perhaps it was her careworn face, that tensed into awareness every few minutes, as though some agony of mind or body had seized her...

"I hear your niece is getting on well," Rose offered at last, with an effort. "My brother was tutoring her for a while."

"Hugo's a good boy," Mrs Longbottom murmured, without meeting her gaze. "After what happened in the Forest, I do feel grateful - more tea?"

Rose bit her tongue as curious questions rose to the surface. She had not heard anything about the Forest, and she and Hugo wrote to each other every week. But Mrs Longbottom was not the one to ask; she could sense that the other witch did not want to discuss it further. So she nodded her head, and watched as the stream of hot liquid directed itself into her cup.

"You must miss her, too," she ventured, and Mrs Longbottom's hand stilled. "Your niece, I mean."

"Yes, well she was good to have around the house," Hannah Longbottom said vaguely. "Helping out with this and that." She paused. "But Daisy's always been... different."

"Well, there's no harm in that," Rose said as she reached for a biscuit, struggling to keep her voice nonchalant. She hated when people spoke about being different as though it were a crime.

"Neville and I worry about her," Mrs Longbottom went on, seemingly oblivious to the feelings she had occasioned. "Alice and Enid are so open, friendly; everyone seems to like them. But Daisy never found it easy to make friends. In her old school... and now, in Hogwarts..."

Rose refrained from saying that not everyone liked Alice Longbottom - she had heard enough of her cousin Lily's stories to conceive a dislike for the girl, despite having never met her - but found it hard to conceal the edge that crept into her tone as she said, "At that age it can be tough to meet people. I know _I_ wouldn't have got on if not for my cousins." As Mrs Longbottom met her gaze with curiosity, she hurriedly went on, "She'll find her place."

"I hope so."

The door of the kitchen opened, and in bustled a round witch in green robes. "Time to take your blood, Mrs Longbottom."

"Thank you, Gertrude," Hannah said, with a smile. Turning to Rose, "This is Madam Pye, my Healer. She's been taking care of me since the girls and Neville left. Gerda, this is Rose Weasley."

"An honour," Madam Pye said, with a bow. "Your mother's doing great things for our country."

Rose coloured, and murmured the usual words of thanks; she never knew how to respond when people spoke of her mother in such terms.

Perhaps the trouble was that she never knew whether she agreed with them or not.

"How did you sleep last night, Mrs Longbottom?" Madam Pye asked as she began her ministrations. Discreetly, Rose began to ease her way to her feet, though she could not drag her fascinated eyes away from the Healer's quick hands and smooth movements.

"Not very well," was the apologetic response. "The Sleeping Draught didn't make much of a difference, I'm afraid."

"You saw it again?" the Healer tutted.

"Yes. Standing in the branches of the tree right outside my window."

Now at the door, her hand on the knob, Rose paused, electrified.

"Like a man, you said?"

"Like a man... but not like. It's hard to describe." Mrs Longbottom did not sound afraid, only thoughtful. "There's something about him - a blurriness, or something. Like one of those half-developed photographs in the old cameras Muggles use." With renewed confidence, "That's how I know it must be a dream."

"Hallucinations are common in your condition. You mustn't worry. When the brain is deprived of sleep, it can manufacture smells, images, sounds... It's quite natural."

The Healer's voice grew more distant as Rose Weasley passed out into the hallway. It was followed by Mrs Longbottom's farewell and thanks; Rose lifted a hand and smiled. It dropped off her face as soon as she had stepped out of the door, unexpected tears of pity pricking her eyes. She had thought herself unfortunate, trapped in Grimmauld Place, but here was Hannah Longbottom, unable to stir outdoors as her blood weakened every day - and now her _mind_ , too...

The Longbottoms' back garden was large, and dotted with flowerbeds planted by the careful hand of Enid, that bloomed into gorgeous being in summertime. At present it was rather sad, with scrubs of grass and muddy paving stones. The tree that grew by Hannah Longbottom's bedroom window was bare and skeletal, its branches reaching out like desperate hands. But a friendly light gleamed through the kitchen window, penetrating the gloom of the winter's afternoon; and inside the two witches could be seen, one hanging over the other in anxious care.

A foot cracked the loose twigs underneath the tree, a pale hand brushed over the glass, and a dark sheet of hair pooled on the stone ledge. Had the two witches been more alert to their surroundings, they would have seen the face framed in the window, for the intruder took no care to conceal themselves.

But they did not look around. Mrs Longbottom carried on talking, Madam Pye carried on working, and neither of them seemed to know how close the danger loomed.

In the next moment, the door of the kitchen burst open, and in pressed Rose Weasley, mouthing apologies as she seized up her cloak from the chair, and then lingered to ask some question of the Healer. The light of the lamp gleamed in her red hair, lighting it like a beacon.

Perhaps they would never know.

Daphne Greengrass stepped back from the window.

She had missed her chance. The Weasley girl she would not interfere with. She cast a glance up at the roof of the house, on which stood the dark, cloaked form. It watched her, just as she had watched the women through the window: still, silent, waiting. It had followed her, from the snow-swept mountains of Scotland to the grey rooftops of London.

She could not linger here any longer.

* * *

Scorpius was determined to make himself useful in the course of his stay in Malfoy Manor, but there was one adversary with which he had not reckoned: the cold.

It seemed to have gotten worse rather than better over the years; like the damp, it permeated every corner of the house, creeping in through unseen cracks and assailing its inhabitants as they went about their daily business. Despite this discomfort, Lucius Malfoy refused to remove to a warmer bed in the house; he continued to occupy the draughty master chamber on the first floor, and there was nothing either his wife, daughter-in-law, or grandson could say to dissuade him.

One morning, when Scorpius had been absent from London for two weeks, the Malfoys awoke to a transformed world. The bare trees outside the diamond-paned windows glittered with frost, and drifts of snow dotted the overgrown lawns outside in unsightly lumps. Within the house, the cold was worse than ever, creeping and sneaking and grasping.

Scorpius descended the servants' staircase into the kitchen to be greeted with intense smoke. He squinted through it, putting down the teatray he had collected from his grandfather's room, and called, "Mum?"

A dark shadow rose and straightened, and his mother stepped into view, the collar of her robes over her mouth. "I've been trying to start a fire."

"I can see that," Scorpius said dryly.

"Not just any fire," Astoria Greengrass said impatiently. "A fire that'll heat the whole house. There's a spell that's supposed to do the trick… but as you can see - "

"It's not working out," her son finished, then put a hand to his chest as he coughed. For an instant, his head spun, and he felt that old shortness of breath.

Then it was gone, and his mother was peering at him in concern through the smoke. "Scorpius?" Fumbling for her wand, "Here, I'll get rid of this…" She muttered an incantation, Vanishing the smoke, then stepped forward, placing a hand on her son's shoulder. "Come on, sit down for a minute."

"I'm fine," Scorpius protested, but at the steely look in his mother's eye, he then complied, dropping into one of the cushioned chairs around the round table. They seldom ate in the dining room now, for it was much warmer in the kitchen.

"I had a letter from Francis today." Astoria spoke casually, but her eyes were trained on her son's face as she took a seat across from him at the table. "He's wondering when you'll be coming back to work."

Scorpius coughed, and his mother jumped up again. Evading her ineffectual, flapping gestures, he rose to his feet and crossed to the window. Outside, Narcissa Malfoy was walking the kitchen gardens hand in hand with little Sammy Greengrass. "Never."

"Never?" his mother repeated, in a slightly choked voice, then, seemingly gathering herself, "Scorpius…"

"I've learned all I can in Wright's."

"Scorpius, Francis Wright is a very good friend of mine…"

"Francis Wright is a bigoted old man." Scorpius spoke calmly, without turning around. "I'll find another job."

His mother made a scoffing sound. "As if it's that easy." A pause, then, "If this is about Rose - "

"We agreed not to talk about that, Mum," Scorpius reminded her. "Didn't we?" Then, he let out a chuckle, the sound startling to his own ears. "Come look."

With an air of reluctance, Astoria joined him by the window, and smiled. Outside in the garden, Sammy was jumping up and down in a drift of snow, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was sending a miniature storm of white flakes in the direction of his dignified, aged companion.

"Granny has her work cut out for her."

"It's good for Narcissa," Astoria said scornfully. Then she turned, putting her back to the sink, and her son followed suit.

After a moment's silence, "Mum?"

"Mmm?" His mother's face had taken on that distant look, by now familiar to him.

"I still don't want to talk about - what happened, but I've been wondering... Did you and Dad argue a lot? I mean, when you were first together?"

Astoria Greengrass frowned. Scorpius, glancing across at her, added hastily, "It's all right if you don't want to talk about him."

"No, I do." His mother smiled faintly. "It's true we didn't get on at first. But that had more to do with Daphne and Blaise than with us."

"How?"

She lifted her shoulders. "Oh, they made their problems everyone else's. They were engaged when your father and I first met, you see, but they argued all the time. And since Draco was more Blaise's friend… he tended to come down on his side in the arguments. While I stood by Daphne - not seeing, of course, that - " Astoria Malfoy broke off, biting her lip, then turned to the window again. "I'm boring you, with all this talk of the past."

Scorpius put out a hand, touching his mother's arm. "Mum. Please. What were you going to say?"

Astoria fixed her gaze on the figures of Sammy and Narcissa as she said quietly, "Your aunt Daphne… She was her own worst enemy."

Applause drifted in from the garden: Narcissa Malfoy was clapping as Sammy shaped a hovering snowman in the air with his own hands. Scorpius and Astoria watched absently, and finally the latter resumed, unprompted, "She loved Blaise, of course, but I think now - looking back - that love had more to do with his estate in Derbyshire and the moonstone ring he gave her than… do you know what I mean?"

It was an unnecessary question, for her meaning could not have been clearer, but Scorpius nodded nonetheless. "What about Nott?"

"Nott," Astoria repeated, flatly. "What about him?"

"You told me he and Aunt Daphne used to go out, in school."

"Oh, they did. They were - devoted to each other, at one time." Astoria screwed up her face as though she were trying to remember. "But I don't remember seeing much of him after we left school. I was working in the Ministry, and he was between jobs. He came to the engagement party, I think, though he didn't stay for long. Things hadn't ended well with him and Daphne, you see. People said she moved on to Blaise rather quickly."

Outside, Sammy was now in intense negotiations with Narcissa regarding her scarf, which he seemed anxious to procure for his snowy creation. He did not appear to be gaining much ground, but still he persisted, and Astoria Malfoy smiled again as she watched him.

"Tobias wasn't born until a long time after, of course, as you know. Daphne and Blaise spent a lot of time apart in the first few years. But I do remember, they sent an invitation out to Theodore Nott for the christening." With a glance at Scorpius, "He didn't come."

"Of course not," Scorpius said, with feeling. "Why would he want to, after she dropped him like that?" Then, at his mother's surprised expression, "I'm not defending the man. Merlin knows what he's done - I just mean - "

He trailed off lamely, and the two were silent for some minutes, until his mother ventured, "Scorpius? I know we agreed not to talk about it, but…"

"What?" Scorpius said warily.

"Well, if I learned anything from observing my sister - over the years…" Astoria bit her lip again, "It's that when it comes to marriage, or love, you can't put all the blame on one party when things go badly." Listing off her fingers, "Blaise certainly didn't treat my sister well, but she married him for the wrong reasons. And Daphne might have cast off Nott… but he should have fought for her. A real man would have. Your father fought for me."

"And look how that turned out," Scorpius said dryly, before he could help himself, but his mother just laughed.

"Well, it hasn't been perfect, that's for sure. But we're still together, aren't we, after all these years? I've been loyal to him, and he to me." Astoria Greengrass turned towards him. "And we have you."

Scorpius met his mother's eye, and was silent. He was grateful when the doorbell rang in the next instant, necessitating a breakup of their tete-à-tete. Astoria bustled out of the kitchen, and seconds later the outer door opened, admitting Narcissa Malfoy in a whirl of snow. She threw off her scarf and demanded of her grandson, "Is he here?"

"I think so. Mum's just gone out to..."

His grandmother did not wait for him to finish as she swept out of the room, the door swinging shut behind her. Scorpius shrugged to himself.

"Where's Granny?" Sammy Greengrass appeared in the doorway, frowning as he clutched a snowball in his gloved hand.

Scorpius could not help a smile. His younger cousins had taken to calling the elder Mrs Malfoy "Granny", despite having no relation to her. She didn't seem to mind, and Astoria had declared that as long as they never took to calling her the same thing, she was happy, too. "Granny's gone to talk to the Healer."

After considering this for a moment, Sammy then twisted his countenance into a horrific contortion and stuck out his tongue in such a way as demonstrated just how highly he rated the claims of this Healer.

"Now, Sammy," Scorpius said sternly, though it had been one of the greatest efforts of his life not to laugh at the exhibition. "You know you're not supposed to do that. What if..."

"What if the wind changes and my face gets stuck like that, I know, I know," grumbled Sammy, resuming a normal expression. "But she _promised_ she'd help me finish Dumbledore." He stomped out into the snow again. Openly laughing now, Scorpius followed after.

"Dumbledore? Is that what you've called your snowman?"

"Dumbledore still needs a scarf," Sammy said grumpily, without looking around. He reached his creation, and patted his gloved hands over the closely-packed sides. "And he's too fat."

Wet was seeping into the thin soles of Scorpius's shoes, and he could feel the wind biting at his face, but he halted beside Sammy and tilted his head, surveying the snowman in a critical fashion. "Well, we'll have to see what we can do about that."

The grounds of Malfoy Manor had certainly seen its share of imposing figures in the past. Those days when Death Eaters had stalked its pathways were not so long ago, after all - and the Dark Lord himself had often paced its perimeters in the midst of his scheming. But never had they been host to that great and terrible wizard, the only one whom Lord Voldemort himself had feared: Albus Dumbledore.

Scorpius took his charge very seriously, and an hour's work, divided between himself and Sammy, produced better results than could have been hoped for. At the end of it, a tall, thin wizard stood before them, with a purple hat pilfered from the attic of the manor, and a beard of icicles. Two pebbles of pale blue peered out of his ridged face - the colour of which Scorpius himself had altered with his wand - and Lucius Malfoy's old reading spectacles perched on his long nose.

Another duty soon presented itself to Scorpius at the sight of this formidable creation, and he was in the midst of an attempt to educate Sammy on the various accomplishments of Albus Dumbledore when his cousin interrupted, "Is Grandad really sick?"

A light snowfall had started up in the time they had been working. Scorpius no longer felt the numbness of his hands. An Impervius charm kept out the worst of the wet, but still he could not ignore that sharp ache in his chest, rendered all the worse by the raw air. He looked down at the younger boy's thoughtful face, and could not think of any way to lessen the blow. "Yes."

"Is it because he's old? He doesn't look old like _him_." Sammy pointed at the beard of icicles on their snowman. At the same moment, a strange light filtered through the bare branches overhead and played on the blue pebbles, so that they looked as though they were twinkling in amusement.

"Grandad is old," Scorpius affirmed. _And bitter_. "He's seen... a lot. The War, and - last year - it's been hard on him."

A long pause, then, shuffling his feet in the snow, "Is he going to die?"

The pain in Scorpius's chest turned into a white-hot knife. Words resounded through his head: words from long ago, words he had wanted to forget. Words in his father's voice, laced with grief and self-loathing.

 _I'm sorry, Scorpius. I'm so sorry._

"Scorpius, Sammy!" A shrill voice echoed across the snow. Turning, they saw Astoria Greengrass standing in the kitchen doorway, beckoning impatiently to them. "Come in!"

For a few bizarre moments, Scorpius thought the anger on his mother's face had to do with what he had been saying to Sammy, as though she had somehow overheard what they had been discussing. He soon realised that he was mistaken, as they pressed into the kitchen and his mother pressed a cool hand to his forehead. "You're burning up. What were you doing, staying out there for so long? You know it's not good for you, Scorpius... you _know_ what the Healer said..."

Sammy's eyes were round as saucers as he struggled to get out of the sleeves of his heavy coat. "Is Scorpius sick, too?"

"No, he's fine," Astoria said briskly, even as she forced her son into a chair and pressed a cup of hot tea into his hands. "He's just silly, that's all. Go find Granny, Sammy."

When his cousin had left, Astoria Malfoy turned to fix her gaze on Scorpius, her green eyes furious. "Drink your tea," she practically growled.

"Mum, you really don't need to worry," Scorpius sighed. The sharp pain he had felt a minute ago was gone; in its place was that dull, throbbing ache. "I feel perfectly..."

"This arrived." In a flash of movement, Astoria Malfoy produced an envelope from her pocket, set it down before him. "From _her_."

In vain did Scorpius Malfoy try to hide the tremble in his fingers as he unsealed the envelope and read the note inside.

"If she wants to meet you," Astoria went on, her own voice shaking, "You tell her _no_. You're in no fit state, Scorpius..."

Her son did not even seem to hear her. He rose to his feet, calmly tucking the envelope into his own pocket, and exited the room with quiet grace, while all the while his mother called after him, "Scorpius - _Scorpius_!"

* * *

It was admirable.

Yes; admirable, but as Albus Potter glanced across at his cousin where she sat in the driving seat, he reflected that he would not have traded places with her for anything. They had been stuck in a snarl of morning traffic in Piccadilly Circus for the past ten minutes, and she had been talking all the while, telling her story. He was only half-listening.

"... and she can't even get a night's sleep, but not a _word_ of complaint. And Dad wouldn't shut up last week when he got that cough, remember? We all had to hear about it. It really makes you think." Rose Weasley shook her head, momentarily lost in pious reflection - at least until a motorbike streaked ahead of them, at which point she blew the carhorn with fervour and began to hurl expletives after the disappearing figure.

"What exactly is wrong with Hannah Longbottom?" Albus asked when his cousin had calmed down again.

A frown creased Rose's brow. "I don't really know. Some kind of malediction of the blood." She glanced at him. "Apparently they're getting more common these days."

Although the heating was on, and the windows of the car were steamed up with condensation, Albus shivered. "Are you sure it's a good idea, Rose?"

She snorted. "No." Listing off on her fingers, "Aunt Ginny's going to be angry that I ran off on the _Prophet_. Uncle Bill won't be happy that I'm not coming back to the bank. Mum will be furious that I didn't consult her." She paused, then returned her hands to the wheel as the line of traffic began to creep forward again. "But Dad'll be thrilled, at least. He'll finally have a Healer in the family."

Albus shook his head, quietly marvelling at her confidence. Aloud, more hesitantly, "Rose, you know there's no guarantee they'll even let you resit the exams. You might be on a waiting list for a long time. And at the end of it..."

"That's why I'm going to go to St Mungo's first. If I can shadow some Healer for a while, get some practical experience, it'll give me an edge over the other candidates." Rose met Albus's gaze again, and her eyes were bright. "It'll be better than sitting at home."

Despite himself, Albus smiled. A London bus drew up on their left side, its bright red flank inches away. "You're crazy."

"I haven't told you the worst yet." Rose kept her eyes trained on the traffic ahead. "I'm meeting Scorpius later."

"What?" Albus swung his head around so quickly that it nearly struck the seat behind as the car started moving again.

"I sent an owl to him yesterday."

"Rose, is that really..."

"This is you, isn't it?" They were pulling up to the junction at Charing Cross. Albus started to gather up his things, even as he shook his head.

"Wish me luck," Rose said as he was getting out, and he looked back at her and shook his head before shutting the car door.

She was mad. Insane. Albus Potter turned it over in his head as he passed down Charing Cross Road, through the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley. He glanced at the pretty bow windows of Crawley's teashop. No, he reflected, he still would not want to be in Rose's shoes today, but... but, it certainly made one think.

It certainly made one feel brave.

* * *

The Shakespeare's Head in Holborn was the kind of place Scorpius knew his mother would deplore. For one thing, it was part of a larger chain of pubs that could be found all around the country, and whatever historical connection that its printed menus attempted to draw to the Bard of Avon was tenuous at best; for another, it was so busy that there could be no question of table service, and so it was necessary to go up to the bar when ordering, where a production line of staff swiped cards and pulled pints and chatted with each other about last Sunday's match.

After a few minutes standing elbow to elbow with other customers, Scorpius was approached on the other side of the bar by a young man with dreadlocks, who seemed to have difficulty understanding his crisp accents, as he asked him more than once to repeat his order.

"You what, sorry, mate?"

"The curry special," Scorpius said, raising his voice and enunciating each syllable. "With just water, please."

"Curry special," the barman pronounced, with some relief. "And you get a drink with that, sir. What would you like?"

"Water," Scorpius repeated, and then, at the man's blank look, raised his voice. "Water, please."

"A'right." The server tapped out a code on the till. "And your table number?"

Now Scorpius was lost. "My…"

"Your table number," the young man repeated, with a long-suffering sigh. "Can't order without a table number. Come back when you 'ave it."

Drawing a deep breath to calm his rattled nerves, Scorpius forsook his place by the bar and returned to the booth he had claimed by the window, which overlooked a mean alleyway.

"What was wrong with a regular coffee shop?" he muttered to himself as he went. "No nonsense about food, table numbers - Rose." He pulled up short as he reached the booth to find her tucked in there, hands folded in her lap.

"I recognised your bag," she said by way of explanation, and Scorpius glanced at the brown satchel on the seat across from her before sliding in himself. His heart was thumping, his throat was dry, the sounds of the pub around him suddenly louder and more bothersome than before…

"I didn't realise you had to have a table number," he said foolishly. "To order here, I mean."

"I've already ordered for us," Rose replied, and as Scorpius stared, "I just got two coffees."

"Oh - er, thanks."

"My dad used to bring me and Hugo here when we came to visit London. It hasn't changed." Rose Weasley did not smile, but there was a kind of content in her features as she surveyed the scene around them, which faded again as she looked back at him.

"Right. And - er…" Scorpius felt the words sticking in his throat; they wouldn't come - why was this so hard? "How have you been?"

"Fine." And she looked it. There was colour in her cheeks, and a gleam in her eyes. A beat of silence, during which a server weaved past their table and set down two steaming mugs of coffee on his way. Rose's hands went around hers instantly. "I wasn't sure at first. Whether meeting was a good idea."

He had known her for so long now that he should have been accustomed to her directness, but all the same, Scorpius found himself surprised as he looked across the table at her, and met her calm, frank blue eyes.

"But then," Rose went on, tracing the rim of her mug without lifting it to her lips. "I figured we still had some things to discuss."

"Yes," Scorpius said quickly. This was it; this was the moment. He leaned forward across the table. "Rose, I've had a lot of time to think, and I…"

A clatter, as another passing server set down milk and sugar between them. Rose seized up the metal jug and did not meet Scorpius's gaze as she began to pour. Clearing his throat, he began again. "The way we left things - back in Charing Cross… it's been bothering me."

"Me too," Rose said, and Scorpius's heart leapt, but then she went on, "I haven't gone back to get anything. So much of my stuff is still there."

"Your stuff," Scorpius repeated, dumbly.

"That wireless, for instance." Rose swirled her teaspoon in her coffee. "I know we went half and half on it, but - well, there's only one wireless in Grimmauld Place, and my aunt Ginny's always hoarding it in her room, and I'd really like one of my own…"

Scorpius shook his head as though to clear it. Rose's voice came to him as though from a great distance. "So if you want the ten Galleons back - "

"No," he broke in, and she looked up at him. "Just go - take it. Take whatever you need."

"Are you sure?" When he did not reply, she went on, "I might drop in today, then. And after that I can send you the key by owl, if you want."

"Hold onto it," Scorpius said faintly, but Rose shook her head.

"I don't think that's such a good idea." Her voice sounded so gentle, and he found he could not meet her gaze now; it was as though he sat trapped in this booth, in this bright, deafening place, while she talked at him. "Do you?"

"No," Scorpius said, and by some great force of will, managed to stand. "I'm going to go pay."

"I already did." Rose looked up at him from where she sat. How was it that she still looked so calm, he wondered, while his own heart felt as though it would tear up his chest?

"Then I'd better leave a tip." Hardly knowing what he was saying, he fumbled in his pocket and threw down a few coins. "For the good - good service."

Scorpius Malfoy walked out of the pub blinded by his own tears.

Rose Weasley sat still for a long time after he had departed, as the flow of business carried on around her; as people stood and sat and drank and ate and called across to one another. At length she rose, reached into her purse with a shaking hand, and left down a note without even looking at it.

The staff of the Shakespeare's Head enjoyed a hearty few pints that night. It was not often that one of their customers left a fifty-pound tip, after all, considering that there was no table service in the place. "Must have been loaded," one remarked to the other, but none really gave it much thought; it was a happy accident.

* * *

Today was the day.

Albus Potter had decided: a decision, he would admit, that had been partly fuelled by his conversation with Rose that morning. But there had been other prompting voices, too, that had reminded him he could not wait forever.

For most wizards, of course, asking a witch on a date would not be seen as such a momentous occasion. But Harry Potter's son was not most wizards. It was important to him that this was done right. So he passed the majority of his shift in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes searching in his mind for the fitting words. He wrote down a few phrases, before promptly crumpling up the paper and chiding himself for his foolishness. He spent most of his break walking the length of the canteen upstairs from the shop as he recited several possible openings. He debated getting flowers, and in the end decided against it. He borrowed his uncle's small shaving mirror and combed his hair in it, then met George Weasley's inquiring gaze with an unconcerned smile.

"Thanks for the loan."

A light rain was falling over Diagon Alley, and it was nearly dark already when Albus emerged at last from the shop. With the help of a hasty Impervius charm, he was able to prevent the conditions from undoing his hard work, and walk the few hundred yards to Crawley's teashop dry as a bone.

It would have been unfortunate, after such preparation and foresight, if Dora had turned out not to be working today. Albus had certainly considered the possibility more than once throughout the day. But fate was not so cruel, and he walked into the teashop to see his dear one pouring tea for an elderly witch. She straightened, put a hand to her back and then smoothed the material of her long apron with the other.

"How are you today, Mr Potter?" asked Mrs Crawley, rather wearily, bustling past him. Albus turned quickly, and nodded as she directed him to a round table by the window.

"Very well, thank you."

"Dora will be with you in a moment."

From behind the counter, that very same witch caught his eye as she set down a tray, and it seemed to Albus that her face brightened, that the smile which followed was entirely different from the one she wore for the other customers: a smile just for him.

"The usual today, Mr Potter?" Dora asked as she joined him a moment later.

"Call me Albus," he replied, and then, as she blushed, "Yes, the usual, please. And Dora..." As she turned back to him, with an inquiring expression, he lost courage. "It's good to see you."

The teashop was soon crowded, as wizards and witches finishing up their shifts packed into the warm interior before setting out on their journey home. Albus lost sight of Dora as she flitted from table to table, and it became harder and harder to attract her attention. But he had been expecting that, and he was patient. He waited, nursing his second cup of tea, and soon the teashop began to empty again.

Dora looked tired now. He watched as she moved behind the counter, and saw her face brighten again as she looked towards him. She was glad he was still here - glad he had not left with the rest...

Lost in his reflections, Albus had not noticed the sound of the bell as the door of the teashop opened and closed again. But he could not miss the tall, handsome wizard who strode straight for the counter. He had passed him before on the street: had seen him hauling boxes into Flourish and Blotts, the muscles of his broad shoulders straining. He had seen him whistle and laugh as pretty witches passed by.

"Finished yet?" Carlos Santini asked of the witch behind the counter, who shook her head regretfully.

"There's still a lot of work to do, Mr Santini," said Mrs Crawley sternly. "Perhaps if you came back..."

"No, I can wait." Santini placed a proprietary hand on the counter. "Where do you want to go tonight, love?"

Dora seemed to be considering as she sent the sweeping brush moving around the room. "How about the Three Castles in Shoreditch?"

"Sounds good. Hope you're out of here soon." Carlos Santini smiled broadly, and slowly turned his head to survey the other guests that still remained in the teashop. But the two former classmates were not destined to meet; Albus Potter no longer sat in his chair, the only traces of his presence a few Sickles still rolling on the table, and the door of the teashop slowly creaking closed.

* * *

"Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid."

"Oh, come on, Al, it could have been worse. I mean... it wasn't complete and utter humiliation."

" _You_ were the one who told me to give it a go. I shouldn't have listened."

"Oi, don't pin this on me! I have been known to be wrong on occasion."

Albus Potter ceased his pacing and turned around. Regulus Black's former bedroom was always gloomy; even with the full light of his wand illuminating it, there were corners whose darkness could not be penetrated. It was in one of these corners that the Invisibility Cloak had been folded into a neat grey square.

"That's the first sensible thing you've said all day."

James Potter snorted. "Hardly the first. Give it up, Al. She's just a bird. Plenty more where that came from. Anyway, what kind of taste does she have? _Carlos Santini_." As his brother opened his mouth, "And before you say it, no, Lily doesn't count. She was too young to know better."

Thus silenced, Albus closed his mouth again. He was used to it now; he had stopped wondering at it, at least out loud, but still it struck him: how _real_ James looked, as he stood there. His form did not waver; it was not pearly white or translucent like those of the Hogwarts ghosts. He was wearing his Quidditch vest over jeans, just as he had always done in school. Looking at him now, Albus could almost ignore the Resurrection Stone behind him, as it sat atop the folded up Invisibility Cloak, glowing with light.

"You're impossible," he said at last, smiling despite himself.

"I'm right, is what I am." But James's grin faded after a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. "How is she?"

"Who?"

"Lily." There was an expression in his brother's brown eyes that Albus did not want to read. "She went back to school?"

"Yeah," Albus said, a little hoarsely. "So did Hugo. They ended up opening Hogwarts again, after... though everyone said..." He stopped, looked down. "James, I don't want to talk about this."

"Right, of course not," James said hastily. "Al, I'm sorry. Just... can I ask you one more thing?"

Albus did not look up. His head almost felt too heavy to move. "'Course."

"When are you going to tell the others?"

Slowly, Albus lifted his gaze. James had stepped closer, and he saw only kindness and understanding in his brother's eyes. No judgement, no accusation. He reached up and straightened his glasses. "I... Rose and Hugo already know."

"About the Resurrection Stone." James's voice was patient. "They don't know you've been using it to summon me. And you - told them that you wouldn't, didn't you?"

The air of the bedroom was smothering now; pressing down on Albus, stealing his voice. He moved to the window, fumbled with the latch, and opened it out onto the dark, rainy night. When he at last found his voice again, it sounded small, pathetic. "I didn't mean to. Honestly, James. But I... I had to see you."

"I know." James's voice was suddenly thick with something. Albus did not want to know what it was. His heart had been chafed raw after his disappointment; suddenly he knew that if he turned around and saw the tears in his brother's eyes that he feared were there, it would crush it completely. "And it's good to see you, Albus. It's so lonely out here - you've no idea. But Mum and Dad and Lily..."

A cold wet was trailing down his own cheeks. Rain, Albus told himself. His hand moved around the latch as he moved to secure it. "You know what would happen if I told Dad."

"I..."

"He would send you back to that place." Albus's hand twisted around the latch, and suddenly he hated himself; he hated the words that were pouring out of his mouth. "The lonely place. Forever. We'd never see you again. You'd never see us..."

"OK, OK." James was speaking hastily now. "Albus, look at me - I was only saying that maybe - "

 _Knock, knock_. Albus Potter's head jerked upright. "Albus?" A voice. "Albus, why is the door locked?"

In an instant, he was moving for the Stone. In a whisper, "You need to go." Looking up, he met his brother's brown eyes, and saw with relief that they were dry. "I'll call you soon again."

James Potter nodded, and stretched out a hand; his fingers brushed Albus's in parting just before he vanished.

His mother's face peered at him through the crack that opened in the doorway, taut with worry. "Who were you talking to?"

"No one."

Ginny Potter searched the face of her son. "You look pale."

"I've had a long day," Albus replied. That much was true, at least.

"Well, come down for a cup of tea. Your dad's back from Braemar, and Lily's Flooing from Hogwarts. We need to talk to all of you."

"I'll just be a second."

"Right." His mother hesitated a moment more, then moved away down the landing. Her voice floated back to him. "Don't be too long."

* * *

William Corley was talking on his mobile phone as he came up the steps to his townhouse in Kensington.

Such devices did not work inside the Ministry, of course, but for out-of-office calls, they were occasionally employed by himself and the other Support Staff of the Minister for Magic. For much as Corley disliked to admit it, the Muggle contraptions, like cars, had their uses.

He could hear his driver starting up the engine in the street behind him as he fitted the key to his door. "Tonight. Mm-yes, it'll have to be tonight. I go up to the country house tomorrow. Mm-yes, to Hampshire."

The door opened, the Ministry car glided away into the darkening streets of central London, and Corley stepped inside his house. His phone began to cut out, as it always did within any magical dwelling, and he said a hasty farewell to the Undersecretary. "Tonight - yes, at the Spew function. We can go over the itinerary then."

He put his phone down on the hallway table, then reached up and began to remove his hairpiece. After a bit of fumbling, he breathed a sigh of relief and cast a glance at his reflection in the long mirror: his bald head gleamed in the light of the lamps.

"Darling?" he called, poking his head into the parlour, but there came no answer. He had not really expected any; his wife's Grace Belgravia luncheons often dragged on into evening.

To tell the truth, he was relieved to find himself alone, and even hummed a little as he poured himself a glass of whiskey. In an hour or two, he would be making meaningless chit-chat at the S.P.E.W. function over which the Minister was presiding. All those house-elves with their quivering voices and spindly hands and beady eyes... it was not a pleasant prospect.

Corley shuddered, turned and promptly dropped his glass, for sitting in the soft armchair by the fireplace, as comfortably as though he had always been there, was Theodore Nott.

"What the devil - how in Merlin - where did you - " he spluttered, without forming one coherent question; through it all, Nott watched him calmly. He was wearing Muggle clothes, with a pair of horn-rimmed glasses that made it more difficult for Corley to make out the expression on the wizard's face.

When the Advisor had run out of exclamations and simply stood there, his mouth opening and closing like that of a fish, Theodore Nott asked, "Where is your hospitality, William? Aren't you going to offer me a drink?"

Corley looked down at the remains of his own glass, then automatically moved to the decanter, pouring another Firewhiskey. "I only have Ogden's," he said, turning and proffering the glass. Nott stretched out a hand, and his fingers passed right through it.

"Ah," he said, with a hint of disappointment. "As I suspected."

Now Corley was regarding him with narrowed eyes. "What's going on, man? Is this some kind of illusion?" When the other wizard did not reply, still regarding the glass with a wistful expression, Corley firmly put it down and asked, "Where are you, at this very moment?"

Theodore Nott met his gaze calmly. "I am, at present, in a cave in the Cairngorm mountains."

"In Scotland?" Corley repeated, staggered, as his mind faintly registered the four hundred-odd miles between there and London. "But it's as if you're here in this very room!"

"Legilimency can do wonders," Nott said crisply. "It's a pity so many fine wizards lack the discipline for it. While you may think I am physically present - " he gestured with his hands, " - I am actually projecting an image of myself into your mind." He frowned. "Of course, I cannot completely control the other elements of my environment that might be transmitted to you. So if you feel a little chill, I apologise."

Corley rubbed his arms, in a self-conscious gesture. "Yes, well..." He was gradually beginning to regain his composure. "I'm sure it's all very clever, but what in blue blazes are you doing _here_?"

Theodore Nott tilted his head. "Why, you should know; you were the one who brought me back home, William." A flicker of annoyance passed across his features. "And in less than ideal circumstances, I might add. We were followed from the moment we crossed the border."

"Followed?" Corley gaped at him.

"It's not what you think. We were not followed by the Ministry." Nott sounded impatient now. "No, it was - some mysterious being. Dark, and silent. Like a wraith, or..." He drew in a quick breath. "I don't know." His eyes fixed on Corley, sharp and accusing. "But perhaps _you_ do?"

"I assure you, Theodore," Corley blustered, "that I played my part as well as I could. My man disabled the protective spells on the Channel border patrol just long enough to let your vessel through... and he did it at the change of guard, as per your instructions; not a moment sooner - "

"Yes, and I am grateful, of course," Nott broke in, "for the risks taken by both you and your men, but I am simply trying to understand - " Then he seemed to stop himself, breathing in deeply through his nose. Corley felt a phantom gust of wind. "I cannot hold this spell for much longer. William, I have another favour to ask of you."

The Advisor was silent, waiting. Nott continued, "I need you to notify the Minister for Magic of Daphne Greengrass's return to the country."

William Corley blinked, opened his mouth and shut it again. He picked up the glass originally intended for his guest, drank a little, and started to chuckle. "Very clever, I'm sure."

"It's not a joke, William." Theodore Nott's eyes bored into his. "I need you to tell her. Tell Hermione Weasley, tell Harry Potter, tell the Auror Office, tell the Muggle Prime Minister - tell everyone. I want the whole country on alert to find Daphne Greengrass."

Corley's smile dropped away. "Have you lost your mind, man?" He threw down the glass and gestured with his hands. "I smuggled you and Daphne back into the country. If I tell the world she's back, they'll know _you_ are, too! It will all have been for nothing; and what's worse..." His voice lowered as he jabbed a finger at his own chest, "... _I_ will be the one to blame. Oh, they'll find me out soon enough; Weasley already wants me gone."

Theodore Nott was watching him silently when he finished his rant. Very calmly, he spoke. "Daphne Greengrass is a liability."

"I thought she was your - I thought that she and you - "

"She is dangerous," Nott went on, his face hardening, "And I want her found." As Corley puffed out his chest and prepared for another speech, he added, simply, "Doesn't your granddaughter go to Hogwarts?"

William Corley stood very still. "Rosemary," he muttered, his eyes narrowing on Nott's face. "Yes."

"Oh, I mean her no harm," Nott laughed at his expression, "but Daphne might, for all I know! She is on her way to Hogwarts as we speak."

"But you can stop her," Corley said, and it was then that he saw it - the faintest shiver that passed through Theodore Nott's frame; as though he were afraid. The next words that the wizard spoke shocked the politician more than any he had heard before.

"It may not be in my power to do so." Then he jerked his head, in commanding mode once more. "Get a quill, and parchment."

Corley could not but obey. He opened a nearby drawer and drew out the required articles. Nott carried on. "Write a letter to the Minister for Magic. Tell her to ready her best hit-wizards, and send them on Daphne Greengrass's trail." He went on in a similar fashion, dictating every now and then as though the Advisor were a mere clerk; and Corley, for his part, wrote furiously, glancing up every now and then to catch Nott's expression.

"Send it now," was Theodore Nott's last order, and he waited, watching as William Corley pursed his lips and whistled. A snowy owl came flapping in through the open door a moment later, and the politician folded up the letter, sealing it and then tying the parchment to his owl's leg. He opened the window, and she hurtled out into the darkening sky.

"Maggie will get there soon. She's a fast owl."

"Maggie." Faint amusement flickered on Nott's face. "Your owl is called Maggie?"

"Yes, after Margaret Thatcher. Fine woman, even if she was, you know, a..." William Corley made a face and muttered the last word as though it were an oath. "Muggle."

"Margaret was my mother's name." Theodore Nott's eyes had grown distant. Then, as Corley cleared his throat, unsure of what else to do, he seemed to remember himself. "I will be in touch."

When his parlour was his own again, William Corley picked up the cushion on the armchair in which the apparition had been sitting, plumped it, and set it down again. He crossed to the window and looked out, at the rainy streets of London. And then he smiled.

Yes, Maggie was a good owl; though it would take her somewhat longer to reach her destination than Theodore Nott might have supposed. For she was going not to the Ministry of Magic in Whitehall, or even to the Minister's house in Islington; no, she was flying to Nine Elms, to the U.S. Embassy, where one of President Spencer's best Aurors would be waiting, and would be only too glad to bear Corley's brief message back across the Atlantic Ocean to New York.

He had weighed it all in the time he and Nott had spoken together; of course he had. The conclusion he had reached was that the Ministry did not need to know quite yet of Nott and Greengrass's return; that the crisis into which the country would be plunged when the truth was discovered would be far more interesting to President Spencer; and finally, that the danger to his Rosemary could not be very great, guarded as she was daily by the men he had placed among Potter's Aurors. The Greengrass bitch would not get near her. It had been a hollow threat; and perhaps the other wizard had known it to be, too. Theodore Nott was no fool, after all.

His greatest mistake had been thinking that William Corley was one.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading and reviewing, guys! We'll return to Hugo and Daisy and the Hogwarts crowd in the next chapter. See you all soon :)

 **Music:** "Stranger Sun" Natseon Hae by Park Hye Ri - Boys Before Flowers soundtrack

"I Only Have Eyes for You" - The Flamingos

"Didn't I (Blow Your Mind This Time)" - The Delfonics

"On Melancholy Hill" - The Gorillaz


	10. The Poison Tree

**A/N:** Hey everyone! How's life?

This chapter caused me a lot of problems. And this is going to sound terrifically self-indulgent, but the more I tried to edit and streamline it, the more it rebelled. So I just tried to tidy it up as best I can, and I hope you guys enjoy. It's the big one...

 **Disclaimer:** Copyright J.K. Rowling. Also, to W.B. Yeats for his beautiful poem, "The Cloths of Heaven".

 **Previously:**

Daisy Abbott trades an old watch with witch Moribund for magic and a place in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Lily Potter and Hugo Weasley investigate a strange creature called the Guardian from which Hugo rescued Daisy in the Forbidden Forest.

Albus Potter obtains the Resurrection Stone from Moribund and begins to use it to contact his deceased brother James, unbeknownst to the rest of his family.

Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass, both on the run, return to Britain and part ways after a quarrel.

 **And in "Love and Glory":**

Slimy Slytherin Carlos Santini arranged a bet with his friends that he could bed Lily Potter within a month of dating her. He succeeded in his plan, and Lily, heartbroken and betrayed when she found out, promptly ended things.

* * *

 **Chapter 8: The Poison Tree**

 _'I was angry with my friend:_

 _I told my wrath, my wrath did end._

 _I was angry with my foe;_

 _I told it not, my wrath did grow.'_

 _Songs of Innocence and Experience,_ William Blake (1789)

* * *

The old apothecary's cottage stood deserted in Hogsmeade village. It had been so since the day that James Potter had died there. The Aurors had searched the place, of course, and they were followed in their search by the hit wizards, and then by James's family. His father had beaten the window frame with his hands and his sister had soaked the carpet with her tears. His mother had run a caressing hand over the high-backed chair with as much loving care as though her son still sat in it, and his brother had simply gazed at the tiny, grimy window set deep in the wall of the cottage.

No one had found the trapdoor in the floor of the cottage. Nott must have been the last one to use it: with a touch of his hand he had made it melt away into nothingness, just as Daphne Greengrass now brought it back into being with another touch. She felt along the wood for a moment, as though assuring herself that it was really there, and then lifted herself out into the cottage.

It was dark here, but lighter than in the passageway; she could see a bead of blood bubbling on the pad of her finger. She gazed at it, then sucked it away. When she closed her eyes, she was back in that passage. She had walked there for so long, right from the mountains: old air all around her, black walls reaching out to touch one another, and squeeze her between them... she had walked, water dripping, far-off voices whispering, faces looming up before her in the darkness. Her boys, Astoria, Blaise, Theo... She had walked right through them, and they had vanished like smoke.

They were shadows; they were not real. Neither was he: the figure standing on the roof of the cottage when she emerged from its door into the growing light of day.

* * *

"Miss Abbott, it seems that things are looking up for you."

Daisy lifted her head, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. The Headmaster of Hogwarts did not meet her gaze, his eyes still scanning the various pieces of parchment laid out before him on the desk. "Your professors all describe you as pleasant, friendly and hardworking. Mr Shacklebolt, too, has nothing but good things to say of the progress you have made in your mentoring sessions together."

A smattering of applause reached her ears from the portraits on the wall. Godfrey Hobspawn's broad, scarred face was beaming at her; Minerva McGonagall looked pleased, Albus Dumbledore inclined his head in approval, and Armando Dippet was squinting at her as though she were a particularly baffling specimen upon which he had stumbled. Only Severus Snape's expression remained sullen, his mouth ever so slightly curled in distaste.

A bemused smile had grown on Daisy's face at this reception of the Headmaster's news, and she was still craning her head about to look at them all when Professor Broadmoor's pointed cough brought her attention back to him.

"However." He coughed again. "Ahem. However, your test results are not quite so encouraging." Producing a thin sheet of parchment, he began to read off it. "A 'P' in Charms - and Professor Harris is one of the most generous markers in the school - a 'D' in Potions, another 'P' in Defence Against the Dark Arts..."

"But those grades are from nearly a month ago," Daisy protested, and Professor Broadmoor's eyebrows rose. "I mean - professor. I've improved since then. Didn't you just say that? And didn't my professors say..."

"They have spoken only of your performance in class," the Headmaster broke in sternly. "How you will hold up in an examination environment remains to be seen. Miss Abbott, you have never sat a Christmas examination in Hogwarts. Let me assure you that they will be not be like anything you have experienced before. In your Muggle school..."

"Ashmole Academy," Daisy supplied.

"In your Muggle school," the Headmaster went on as though he did not hear her, "No doubt the material and conditions of examination would have been based around rote learning: memorising facts and figures and dates." As the young girl sitting across from him opened her mouth to contradict this, he pressed on, "Here in Hogwarts, we expect much more from our students: we expect true understanding and practical application of the skills learnt."

"I know that, professor," Daisy said eagerly, "And I promise..."

"Miss Abbott. If you will kindly stop interrupting me." Professor Broadmoor regarded her, nostrils flared; however, at a murmur from some of the headmasters and headmistresses in their portraits, his expression softened. "I know you're doing your best. And you have no easy task ahead of you. But I must remind you of the agreement made between your uncle and the board of governors when you received your letter: that if you fail any of your Christmas examinations, your probationary period in this school will be over. You will cease to study here, and your wand will be taken from you."

There was a silence. In the distance, the clock tower began to chime, and Professor Broadmoor stirred out of his seat. Daisy felt each strike of the gong as a blow reverberating through her body as she sat there. Now standing, the Headmaster reached a hand across his desk, and she allowed him to shake her own without meeting his eye.

"Thank you for your time, Miss Abbott. And best of luck with your study." At the sound of a knock, he raised his voice. "Enter." The door of the office opened. "Ah. Miss Longbottom, Mr Weasley. Thank you for coming. I was just finishing up with Miss Abbott here."

Daisy Abbott turned and met the gazes of Alice and Hugo, one by one. They both were dressed in their school robes. They both had prefect's badges gleaming on their chests. But while one seemed to have difficulty in meeting her eye, the other did not.

"Daisy! Did you hear?" Smiling from ear to ear, Alice turned to Hugo. "Tell her."

"My - er - uncle is throwing a party tomorrow, in Hogsmeade. To celebrate the twenty-eighth anniversary of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes." Hugo talked on, as he issued what seemed to be an invitation, but Daisy barely heard him, her eyes still trained on Alice. Her black hair was arrayed in perfect curls on her shoulder. She looked, her cousin noted with suspicion, altogether _too_ happy. What had put that glow in her cheeks, that sparkle in her eyes?

The mystery was soon solved. Professor Broadmoor, coming around the desk, clapped a hand on Alice Longbottom's shoulder and turned her towards Daisy. "And _this_ young lady will be singing at it."

"With the choir and Mr Shirley, of course," said Alice, hastily, humbly. "The verse at the start is solo, but..."

"I'm sure it'll be the event of the evening," beamed Broadmoor. "Did _you_ know what a wonderful voice your cousin has, Miss Abbott?"

Daisy opened her mouth, and closed it again as the Headmaster went on, "Of course, there'll be a lot of security there." His face grew grave. "Which is why I have asked you two here today. I am trusting you to pass on the message to the current Head Boy and Girl: we must be especially vigilant in our security tomorrow. There will be wand checks at the gates - at the station house, for those pupils who will be walking to the village, and the carriages, of course, will have to be monitored..."

In the midst of this speech, Daisy had drifted to the door, and by its conclusion she had her hand on the doorknob. She was beginning to turn it, in the hopes that she had been forgotten, when Hugo addressed her.

"You'll come?"

She looked back at him. He and Alice were standing before the desk, by the chair she had just vacated, and his head was turned back towards her. He grinned, that old, familiar grin, but Daisy felt none of the answering warmth within her. She nodded, once, and exited the office. Her patent shoes sounded loud as she descended the spiral staircase, but her thoughts were louder: they shouted in her head, each one vying for space.

* * *

"I hate her."

Daisy Abbott's voice was muffled through her hands, but Tobias Greengrass heard her perfectly. They were kneeling before a stone bench in the sunny warmth of the memorial garden, their homework from the week spread out before them, and thus far untouched. Since it was Friday afternoon, a time of the week when it is impossible to set one's mind to anything, let us not judge them too harshly.

"Who cares about some stupid party?" he said comfortably, but this was the wrong response. Daisy dropped her hands, and stared at him through furious, red-rimmed eyes.

" _I_ care! It should be _me_ singing at that party!"

"But you hate crowds," Tobias said.

"That's not the point. Oh, why does she always get _everything_ she wants?" With a moan, Daisy pummelled the stone bench ineffectually, then pressed her face into her hands again.

"Didn't you say Weasley asked you to the party, too?" Tobias asked.

" _That_ was only because he felt sorry for me," was Daisy's scornful response.

"Well... does he even know you can sing?"

"No, and you know why?" Daisy's head flew up, and she lifted a textbook for emphasis. "Because _Alice_ wouldn't let me join the choir. She's too jealous!"

"Right," Tobias said, exchanging the smallest of smiles with the clump of cyclamen to the left of the bench. " _She's_ the jealous one."

"Ugh, this is just making me feel worse." Daisy Abbott rose to her feet and stormed a few paces away, then stopped at the edge of the pool. Her shoulders lifted, and her head drooped.

"Want my advice?" Plucking a stalk from beside him, Tobias bounded to her side and poked her cheek with it.

"No." Pouting, she batted his hand away.

"Stop whining." At the glare she turned on him, Tobias Greengrass laughed, and poked her again. "Stop whining and actually do something."

"Like what?" said Daisy gloomily.

A mischievous smile crossed Tobias's face. "Well, your cousin made a fool of you at the Quidditch party, didn't she? So now it's your turn."

Daisy wrinkled her nose. "What do you mean?"

"You _know_." Tobias nudged her shoulder. "Get your own back."

His friend's expression deepened into a frown, but he saw the interest that had lit in her eyes. After a long pause, "How?"

"Now, that's up to you." His smile widened, and he pointed with both thumbs to his own chest. "But if it involves rule-breaking, _I_ can help. I happen to be an expert."

Daisy Abbott bit her lip, then finally burst out, "What did you have in mind?"

Tobias raised his eyebrows. "Well, the first thing you have to do is make sure you're at that party."

* * *

"I'm telling you, Hugo, that's what it said..."

"And I'm telling _you_ , I don't buy it." A thump, and then a shirt was slung over the door of the cubicle outside which Lily Potter stood, tapping her foot impatiently. "How old was this book you were reading, anyway? No one's dealt in blood magic for centuries. At least, not willingly."

"The Truthseekers did," she said quietly.

"We don't know that." Her cousin's voice was muffled, as though he were pulling something over his head. "Anyway, so this Guardian guy is supposed to just appear whenever a wizard or witch is breaking the law? Isn't that what Aurors are for?"

"He's not a guy, he's a thing - and it's not the law he guards - not our laws." Lily ran both hands through her hair, fighting to keep her voice level as she continued, " _Ancient_ laws of magic, from the dawn of time." Hearing her cousin's faint chuckle, she sighed. "Oh, I don't know, Hugo, that's just what I read in the book. _You_ were the one who saw him, not me."

"I'm not so sure what I saw anymore." Another thump, and then in more natural tones, "Where the hell are my gloves? If McCubbin's stolen them again, I bloody swear..."

The door of the cubicle opened, and a flustered Hugo Weasley emerged in full Quidditch gear, excepting, of course, those important items which his cousin Lily now held up in her hand. "You left them out here."

"Cheers." Hugo started to pull on the gloves, and his cousin watched him for a moment, then shook her head.

"So you don't believe that the thing you saw in the Forest is an actual being that has been around for centuries, but you _do_ believe that Alice Longbottom likes you as just a friend?"

Surprised, Hugo caught Lily's eye. "Who told you that?"

"McCubbin."

"Well, she told me herself. She's not interested in me like that anymore."

"Hugo, girls will say anything to..." Trailing off, Lily blew out her breath. " _Why_ did you agree to let her sing at the party tomorrow?"

"She was the one who suggested it," Hugo said defensively. "Mr Shirley wanted the choir to have an outing, and Alice is their best singer, Mum was saying we needed some entertainment for the reception, and since half the school's going to be there anyway, I just thought..."

"Dunno why it has to be in Hogsmeade," Lily said resentfully. "And on our school weekend, too. All that security: it's not worth it."

"You'll get to see Albus," Hugo pointed out, as he moved to the mirror to survey his reflection.

"You'll _have_ to see him," Lily countered; then, turning with her cousin, "And you're not going to use Alice as an excuse to avoid him, either."

Hugo paused, then laughed. "So my plan's ruined, then."

"Come on, we're going to need Albus's help with this Guardian thing, after all."

"He won't help," Hugo said, in a low voice, and before Lily could question him further, the door of the changing rooms burst open, and in strode Stephen McCubbin. "Girls not allowed," he declared, pointing at Lily before he threw an arm over Hugo's shoulders. "Weasley, come on. You've got to come see this."

"What? Mate, you're not even in your gear, we're supposed to start in a few minutes! Where's everyone else, anyway?"

"Watching," Stephen McCubbin said significantly. He jerked his head towards the door. "Come on."

Intrigued rather against inclination, Hugo followed his friend into the pitch, Lily at his heels. The rest of the team were standing, seemingly transfixed. Following their gaze, Lily Potter looked up - up - up -

A flicker of crimson, and a flash of gold. One chased the other, twisting and turning this and that way as it lost height, dropping a larger distance every time. It seemed to be coming closer and closer - coming straight for them... Lily Potter shaded her eyes with one hand. Details began to emerge: first, she saw that the figure on the broomstick was a wizard's; then, that he had his hands raised above his head even as his broom dipped and dove. And then she saw that he was laughing: she saw the flash of white teeth...

Carlos Santini brought his broom to a halt just before it smashed into the Gryffindor team, and leapt off it onto the grass.

"No," Lily whispered.

"No," Hugo groaned.

" _No_." Stephen McCubbin's eyes were wide with awe. "Did you just do a spiral dive with no hands?"

As the first freezing shock began to wear away, Lily had leisure to reflect that the former Slytherin had certainly undergone a few lessons in humility since leaving school, for he seemed reluctant to answer McCubbin's query beyond a confirming smile. His eyes slid past his eager fan to the two grimacing Gryffindors, and then darted away again, up towards the point from which applause was now echoing.

"Bravo!" Ryan Pratt's magically magnified voice declared as he descended the steps of the nearest Quidditch stand, his fellow Hufflepuffs behind him. Hugo's eyes narrowed as he observed that they were all clad in flying gear. "What we've just witnessed is one of the signature manoeuvres of Carlos Santini: a former pupil of the school, nephew of the renowned player Vasco Santini _and_ candidate for the national team."

More applause. The Hufflepuffs briefly disappeared from sight, before emerging at the bottom of the stands, Ryan Pratt taking the lead. Their captain strode forward until he had drawn up beside the celebrity of the hour, at which point he stopped to shake his hand.

"We can learn a lot from Mr. Santini," he said over his shoulder to his team members, his voice at normal speaking volume now, and no less grating to Hugo's ears. "So I want to take a moment now to thank him for coming so far to train us."

" _Ahem_." Hugo Weasley's pointed cough broke through the chorus of Hufflepuff thank-yous. "Pratt, we had the pitch booked for today."

Ryan Pratt turned about. "Weasley," he said, as though noticing him for the first time, then, in faux distress, "Yes, oh, er, I forgot to mention. I've been hoping for a while to get hold of a professional Quidditch player to talk to the team, and unfortunately this was the only weekend that suited Mr Santini to come up to Hogwarts, so..."

" _Forgot to mention_?" Hugo repeated incredulously.

"I'd be happy to give your team some pointers, too, Weasley," Carlos Santini said magnanimously. "If you hang about and watch our session."

"The more, the merrier," was Ryan Pratt's cheerful addition.

"Hey, that's not a bad idea," said McCubbin. Nudging his captain, "Weasley? What do you say?"

Swallowing the urge to throttle his friend - for there were more urgent matters to address - Hugo gathered himself up to his full height, and was preparing to call that former Slytherin every name under the book - preparing to pry the broomstick out of his loathsome hands, should necessity arise - when a hand touched his shoulder.

Lily Potter did not speak to him; she did not even look at him, and dropped her hand again after a minute. As she weaved her way around the mixed crowd of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, Hugo Weasley was not the only one to watch her go.

"Right," Ryan Pratt said, clapping his hands together and glancing at Carlos Santini. "Will we get started?"

But Santini seemed distracted; his eyes, though now directed back at the players surrounding him, did not seem to really see them at all. Hugo Weasley observed this, and afterwards was unsure whether it made him hate the wizard more or less.

"So he's back," Lily Potter said flatly, when they were alone together in the Gryffindor common room, planted in their corner beside the window and struggling to hear one another over the noise of other students. "So what."

Hugo's eyes were intent as he leaned forward. "Lily, he _hurt_ you..."

"That was a long time ago." Her eyes rose to meet his. "I'm really fine, Hugo. If you want to bring him to training one of the days..."

"I'm not going to do that," Hugo said in a low voice. "Lily - "

"We have more important things to worry about." She stood, and reached into her bag, drawing out a heavy volume and slamming it on the table. "Here's the book you ordered from the Ministry Archives." Reaching out, she flicked roughly through the pages until she had landed on the right one. "And here's the bit I was telling you about."

Hugo's eyes moved from his cousin to the title of the chapter before him: _The Guardian_. A shiver crossed his spine. When he looked up again, Lily was ascending the stairs to the girls' dormitory. Starting up from his chair, he crossed to the foot of the steps. "Lily, wait..."

"Read it." Her voice floated down to him. She did not turn. "For my sake, if for no one else's."

* * *

The door of the music room stood ajar, and through the gap drifted the voice of Alice Longbottom.

" _Tread softly, tread softly_

 _Softly, softly..._ "

"But not _too_ softly," said Daisy Abbott out of the corner of her mouth. "Because we can barely hear you over the piano."

Tobias Greengrass, who was hanging on the other side of the door, snorted. "Why don't you go in there and show her how it's done."

"She'd _love_ that."

The music stopped. "Let's go over it again, everyone," Mr Shirley called, as the choir broke into chatter. "Now, this time, we're going to do the first verse _a capella_ , as it will be tomorrow."

" _A capella_?" Alice Longbottom's voice was shrill in disbelief. Daisy and Tobias exchanged a look. "You mean... I'm going to have to start with no accompaniment?"

"Yes, that's right. The piano will come in on the chorus for the " _Tread softly_ ", of course, and the rest of the song will be accompanied. Now, I want to make a slight change to one of the notes: if you will all turn to the third page of your score and look at the second line from the bottom..."

"Mr Shirley." Alice's voice cut in. "I thought there was a piano accompaniment for this whole song."

"Yes, Alice, there normally is." Now the music teacher sounded a little impatient. "But I've decided that for the solo verse, your voice should go unaccompanied. It would produce a nice effect. It's a quiet kind of poem, or at least, Yeats originally intended it to be, and the music should reflect that."

"But - how will I..."

"I'll give you the starting note. Now, everyone, the F on the third page should have a sharp sign beside it. Yes, Terry, on the second line from the bottom. All right. Everyone ready?"

A starting note sounded, and after a pause, Alice Longbottom's voice took up the melody again. Daisy listened hard, and was gradually forced to admit that there was nothing technically wrong with her cousin's singing. She hit the right notes, her pitch was sound, her rhythm steady... but there was something about the _way_ she sang - or, perhaps, it was the way she did _not_ sing. There was no proper understanding, no feeling in her performance.

As the song was winding down, Tobias stifled a laugh behind his hand. Daisy raised her eyebrows at him. "What?"

"Your face," he grinned. "You look like you've just had a bad Bertie Bott's."

Daisy rolled her eyes, and shushed him as Mr Shirley began speaking again.

"Remember, everyone, we have a lot of events coming up over the next few months. The Christmas concerts, and the Requiem Ball..."

Requiem Ball? The words sent a thrill down Daisy's spine. She stole a glance inside the room, but none of the choir members looked particularly moved or excited. Neither did Tobias. None of them had felt that flash of awareness, that chill of expectation that she had...

Mr Shirley was still speaking from behind his piano. "The solo performances for all of these events will be based around participation. The more you come to practice, the more you can expect to get one."

A touch on Daisy's arm. She blinked like one just waking from a trance, and looked into Tobias's face. "I've got to go," he mouthed.

"OK." Daisy nodded, before inching closer to the door so that she could hear Mr Shirley better.

"I'll see you in the morning." Tobias Greengrass considered his friend for a moment more, then gave her a light punch on the shoulder. "Don't get caught hanging about here."

He walked about halfway down the corridor, and looked back once to see that Daisy Abbott had not moved from her position. There was an expression on her face that he had never seen before: one of rapt attention and breathless hope. For a moment, Tobias felt sorry for her.

Then his thoughts turned back to his own troubles.

The lake waters flowed past the window of the Slytherin dormitory, and Tobias sat cross-legged on his green four-poster bed, his silver curtains closed around him. On his lap, cushioned by a scrap of old fabric, was his mother's old moonstone ring. He watched it for what felt like hours.

At the strike of six, the stone began to flash with light, just as it had done the previous evening at the same time. With each flash, a new rune appeared on the band of the ring. Fumbling for a piece of parchment and quill, Tobias hurriedly traced each rune before it disappeared again.

The stone went dark again at one minute past six. Scrambling up, Tobias ripped back his curtains and rummaged in his bedside table, ignoring the curious glances of Emory Goldstein and Harry Dearborn. He pulled out the Ancient Runes textbook he had borrowed from the library, thumbed through the pages until he had reached the glossary of symbols, then held his own parchment up to compare.

A painstaking hour of translation yielded nothing more than a few words. _Meet - tomorrow - sundown - same place._ Tobias flung down his parchment, kicked his book off the covers, and threw his blankets over his head.

* * *

The morning of the first Hogsmeade trip of the year dawned as clear and bright as any could have hoped. It had been a windy night, and a chilly one for those in the lower quarters of the castle, but there were no clouds in the sky beyond a few fluffy pink puffs, too small and pretty to be any threat.

The distant mountains had crawled right up to the grounds, and their fir-lined lower slopes, gleaming here and there with a few lights, looked close enough to touch. Any native of the region would have recognised this token for what it was, but the students paid it no heed as they struck out on foot, unperturbed by the black-robed figures who trailed each group.

The Aurors, though vigilant as their post required, could not be expected to notice everything. They had not caught Tobias Greengrass at breakfast that morning when he had slipped a Puking Pastille into Mr Shirley's pumpkin juice while feigning interest in Maven Tomgallon's account of his latest stand-off with Peeves. Neither had they seen Daisy Abbott duck into the girls' bathroom on the second floor to swap the sheet music in Alice Longbottom's bag while she and a dear friend chatted in their neighbouring cubicles.

There was a security check at the main door of the castle, and another at the gates, so that by the time their carriage arrived at the station house, beads of sweat were standing out on Daisy's forehead. She fidgeted with the collar of her white dress, and Tobias cast her a glance as they stepped out of their carriage.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I'm fine." Daisy instinctively lowered her voice as they passed a group of Aurors who were making a note of each carriage that arrived. "I just don't see why we couldn't have walked."

Tobias cast a glance up at the sky. An hour had made a significant change in its aspect, and the harmless pink clouds had been leached of all colour; little spits of rain were starting to sprinkle their faces. A slight blurriness at the edge of the sky foretold more rain or snow to come; the clouds gathered and swirled above the mountains like spirals of smoke. " _That's_ why."

Daisy Abbott turned her face up for a moment, too. When she looked back, Tobias was already striding ahead of her. "Why - "

"Come on," he said over his shoulder. "You've never seen Hogsmeade before, right? Let's give you a decent tour before the rain starts."

Daisy's grumblings died in her throat as they gained a slope in the path and came upon the village. There was not a particle of snow to be seen, but she thought she had never seen a more festive scene. Curved rooftops leaned towards one another over meandering streets: friendly candlelight gleamed out of the mullioned windows, rich, luxuriant wreaths stretched overhead, and dear little laneways beckoned at every turn. People called to each other from doorways, and waved to the students from their windows; delicious smells of cooking meat and spices rose to the air. Daisy sniffed, and touched, and gazed: she thought she could never have enough of the place.

"It's nothing like London," she told Tobias in rapture, when he had dragged her from a shop window for the third time, it becoming clear that she had no more intention of buying something than she had the previous two times. He smiled.

"No, it's not."

They passed Dervish and Banges, and Daisy glanced over to where a large family were gathered around the threshold, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they were blocking the way in and out. "All right, all right," the mother said, raising her voice over the din of the others. "Tilda, did you get something for Daddy already?"

Several voices answered her at once, and the witch threw up her hands in despair. Following her gaze, Tobias rolled his eyes. "Isn't it a bit early for Christmas shopping?"

But Daisy Abbott turned to look back at the family, even as Tobias steered them on. There seemed to be five children in total, excepting the absent father; two boys were bickering, the third boy was pulling his sister's hair, and another girl, clearly the eldest, was peering over her mother's shoulder and pointing out items on the list.

The picture stayed in her mind long after other images of that day had faded. That serene, squabbling family walked through her dreams hand in hand, but retreated down the streets of her memory whenever she tried to find them again.

* * *

What had once been Zonko's Joke Shop was now regarded as something of a cursed site. Opening a branch of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in Hogsmeade had been Fred's pet project, and when he had died in the war, it had taken some years for George to get it off the ground. By the time his children had started school, it was up and running, but the last couple of years had not been kind: the fire damage done during the Truthseeker attack was there found to be more significant there than anywhere else, and with the added security that descended upon both the village and the school in the wake of James Potter's death, keeping the branch going had proven impossible.

It was strange, therefore, for Hugo Weasley and Lily Potter to arrive at the doors of the shop and find not only that they stood open, but that distinct sounds of life were coming from within. They proceeded along a passage that had not been there before, the footsteps of their accompanying Auror loud on the stone behind them, came down a short flight of steps, and passed under an arch into a wide, bare room.

It was bright, and noisy, and crowded with staff rushing to and fro. Some were carrying chairs, others setting up displays of glasses. Roxanne Weasley was in the middle of fastening some bunting to the wall with her wand when she saw them, and almost fell off her ladder in excitement. Straightening her magenta robes, she advanced forward and took her cousins' hands.

"Come on! You're late!"

"Are we?" Hugo asked Lily, checking his watch. "The reception doesn't start till four, I thought." She shook her head slowly, and bemused, they let Roxanne drag them across the room, to where a small stage had been set up.

"We can't decide where the piano should go." Roxanne heaved a sigh. "Fred thinks it should go on the stage, but Uncle George is against it, and Albus won't give an opinion."

"I don't have one," came a quiet voice from a door behind the stage, and Albus Potter poked his head out a moment later, clutching a box. "Hullo Lily, Hugo."

"Hello," they replied in some confusion, then Uncle George came up behind them and clapped their backs. Like his daughter, he was clad in magenta robes.

"Glad you're here. You can sort out this mess. We can't have the piano on the stage, can we?" Looking at Hugo in appeal, "After all, your choir's only performing one song, right?" Suspiciously, "You've allowed time for my speech?"

"Just the one," Hugo said with a smile. "And it's not my choir." Automatically, he turned to Albus for a reaction, but his cousin had disappeared into the storeroom again.

"Well, I don't want it up there when I'm talking. Otherwise people might think _I'll_ give them a tune." George shuddered at the notion.

"No one would think that, Dad," Roxanne assured her father with affection, as she linked his arm. "Not _you_."

"I'll leave the final decision to Hugo," said George grandly, and he fixed his nephew with a stare that was half-joking, half-earnest. "Well?"

Aware of Lily's sly glance, Hugo said quickly, "Well... since the choir's only a small feature of the reception - maybe it would be best to have the piano offstage."

George punched the air; Fred shook his fist at Hugo, and a bell rang through the wide, cavernous room, setting a small spinning top on one of the shelves in motion. "That must be Madam Rosmerta with the piano!" exclaimed Roxanne, and she set off at a gallop, dragging her brother with her.

"Now, the question is where we'll put it," mused George. "How about that store? We could use it as a kind of greenroom for the choir." Raising his voice, "Albus? Can you hear me from in there?"

After a pause, their cousin's affirmative came back. Clapping his hands together, George Weasley looked altogether pleased with himself. "That's settled, then. Roxanne? Fred? Has she got it?" He stepped past them at a quick stride, towards the passage they had just exited.

Lily and Hugo looked at one another. "Why is the place so empty?" he asked, with a frown.

"I don't know." Lily squared her shoulders. "I'm going in to talk to Albus." Raising her eyebrows significantly, she said, "You can come if you want."

But Hugo did not follow her. She stepped into the storeroom and her eyes widened. It had clearly been expanded from its original size, and everywhere, there were towering, colourful displays. There were collections of potions she had never seen before in one cabinet; textbooks in another, and in the far corner, mounted above everything else...

"Is that a... broomstick?" She gaped.

"Our business is branching out," Albus Potter replied neutrally. He was kneeling down before one of the cabinets, writing something down. "In more ways than one."

Her jaw still hanging open, Lily edged her way forward, turning this way and that. "And... what is it all doing _here_?"

"I'm not supposed to spoil the surprise," her brother replied. Then, finally looking up at her as she drew to his side. "But looks like it's too late." He straightened, tucking his notebook under his arm, and then gestured around to the displays. "At the start of the ceremony, when everyone's gathered, there'll be an unveiling. All of this stuff will be Vanished and transported into the next room."

But Lily wasn't interested in the ceremony anymore. She was more interested in why her brother looked as pale and weak as though all of the blood had been drained from his body; why there were nasty, dark shadows under his eyes and new lines on his forehead. "Al..." She stretched out a hand to his cheek.

Albus turned his head aside before she could touch him. "I'm fine, Lily."

"You're not," she said firmly, then, "Why didn't Mum and Dad say anything?"

"They're coming today," Albus evaded, with a few steps past her. A pause, then, "I got your letters. Looks like you've made some interesting discoveries."

"I wanted to tell you properly, in person," Lily said, her eyes still trained on her brother's face, "but, Albus..."

She did not get to finish her sentence, as the others arrived with the piano in tow, and all was noise and confusion once more.

"Close your eyes! Close your eyes!" George was bawling to everyone who entered the greenroom, with the result that the piano, which was being suspended in the air by more than a few wands, bobbed this way and that in the air, and at one point lurched dangerously towards a cabinet of Sneakoscopes. Lily and Albus both hurried to right it, then joined the others outside again. Hugo was standing on the stage, his arms folded over his shirt as he thought hard. "Surely this is too far away from the choir?"

Uncle George opened his mouth, then closed it again. Roxanne threw a glance at her brother, and they all seemed on the point of firing up into another dispute when Albus broke in, "I can magnify the sound."

They all looked at him. "I'll stay in here during the performance, and make the sound is properly magnified so that the singers can hear the piano."

"There you are," George Weasley said, with an air of relief. "He'll magnify the sound. Of course."

"Won't that be tiring?" Lily said in undertone, but Albus ignored her, sweeping back into the greenroom. Hugo climbed back down the stage, rolling up his shirt sleeves, and started as Lily stormed up to him.

"Did you see him?" she demanded. "Did you see Albus?"

"He... er... doesn't look well," Hugo said, shifting on his feet.

"No, he doesn't," Lily Potter said fiercely, "and I seem to be the only one who cares."

* * *

To Tobias Greengrass, the dress in the window of Gladrags didn't appear to be anything special: a great grey thing, too feathery and floaty for his liking. But Daisy had been gazing at it for the past few minutes, quiet and thoughtful as her small fingers trailed the glass.

At last, he cleared his throat and said, "Are you actually going to buy that?"

"I could never afford it," Daisy said drearily.

"So let's go, then." Lowering his voice, "We have things to do, remember?"

But Daisy stayed where she was, lost in whatever reverie had seized her. "Tobias," she said slowly. "What's the Requiem Ball?"

Tobias made a face. "Why are you asking about _that_?"

"I just... never heard of it before."

"Well, it's pretty new. They only started it in the last year. It's a ball they hold in the school, in memory of - er, James Potter, you know." Tobias scuffed the pavement with his shoe, then jerked his head. "So - can we go?"

Wordlessly, Daisy followed him, and they made their way down High Street. The wind was getting up now, and there were not quite so many villagers out as there had been before. Tobias was going over the plan; she attempted to listen.

"So, Mr Shirley should be laid up in his room all day. Don't give me that face, Daisy - you asked for my help, didn't you? And you put the wrong music in Alice's bag."

"It ought to confuse her. Tobias - " Daisy bit her lip. "I don't know if we should do this."

Tobias Greengrass stopped in his tracks, and turned in the middle of the street to seize her by the shoulders. Ignoring the stares of passersby, his eyes bored into hers. "Daisy, this girl has made your life hell for the past few months. Hasn't she? She embarrassed you in front of the bloke you fancy. She wouldn't let you join the choir. She - "

"I know," Daisy interrupted, "but this - sneaking around, playing tricks..."

"You're getting your own back. What's wrong with that?" Tobias's face screwed up, as though in disgust, and he let go of her shoulders at last. "Merlin's sake, how long are you going to let everyone push you around?"

Daisy's mouth tightened, and for a few minutes she did not trust herself to speak. They resumed their walk, ducking under eaves in the intermittent squalls of rain that came more and more frequently. Turning Tobias's words over in her mind, Daisy found that the prospect ahead of her did not frighten her so much anymore.

Her companion, on the other hand, seemed to grow in restlessness the closer they came to their destination. He kept checking his watch, and looking at the sky. At last, as they crossed a side alley and came around the entrance of the old Zonko's shop, Tobias let go of her arm. "You go ahead without me."

Daisy stared at him. "But..."

"I've got to go find someone."

"Who? Your brother?" He was already walking away. "But isn't he back in the castle?"

Tobias Greengrass turned to look back at her, and there was a strange finality in his voice as he said, "Good luck, Daisy."

"Daisy, you came!" Enid Longbottom appeared at the door of the shop, and dragged her cousin inside. "Thank Merlin. The reception's about to start, and Alice is going crazy... Mr Shirley hasn't turned up, and she can't find her sheet music."

Daisy followed the other witch along the passage and into the grand room where they were holding the reception. It was filled with chairs, some of which were filled already, and a murmur went around the crowd at the appearance of the two girls. Enid took hold of Daisy's wrist and dragged her into the greenroom behind the stage.

Alice was in the midst of a heated back-and-forth with George Weasley when they entered. "You don't understand - I can't go on stage without him here!"

"But surely there's some way..." The proprietor of Weasleys' Wizard's Wheezes, now dressed in elaborate magenta dress robes, took a step back, and ran a hand over his balding head. Turning, he addressed the row of students in black robes. "Can't you still sing _your_ part?"

A couple of the students exchanged glances, then nodded. Alice, however, broke in, raising her voice. "The solo is part of the song. You can't perform it without. And _I_ can't perform without Mr Shirley." Her eyes, appealing and desperate, sought out Hugo Weasley, who was standing a little apart from the crowd. "Hugo - _you_ understand. They can't make me."

"Of course we can't," George Weasley said reasonably, "but there _is_ an audience out there, and they expect a performance."

"Isn't there any way we could work around it, Alice?" Hugo asked then.

"I could give you the starting note!" one of the chorists piped up. "Your verse was supposed to be _a capella_ anyway, Alice, wasn't it?"

Alice Longbottom had flushed deeply. She seemed, for once, at a loss for words. Enid, anxious to be helpful, now saw her opportunity; she came forward, Daisy in tow. "Our cousin can play the accompaniment! Can't you, Daisy? She's wonderful on piano; she can play anything!"

Now every eye was on the Abbott girl, anxious and entreating. Alice's face had lit up, as though all of their problems had been solved. But Daisy shook her head, and she had never felt so much satisfaction in doing so. "I don't know the part."

An awkward pause, during which no one seemed to want to look at anybody else. Then George Weasley folded his arms. "Right. I'll just go out and address the crowd, get things started." To Alice, "I'll make your excuses."

Daisy had to hold her sleeve up to her mouth to conceal her smile. But Alice Longbottom burst out before George could open the door to the main room, "I'll do it." She turned to her fellow choristers in appeal. "If you give me the starting note."

Something like a sigh of relief went through the company. Enid squeezed her sister's arm in support; the choristers swarmed about her, speaking their encouragement. Even Albus Potter came forward to assure Alice that he would make sure she heard the starting note from the stage. Looking across at Hugo, Daisy saw that he was regarding Alice with nothing short of admiration.

She was going to leave, there and then: to go find Tobias, and tell him that this had all been a big mistake, seemed to be the only thing to do. They had only made things worse, she thought bitterly as she stepped out of the greenroom. But then, perhaps it was not their fault; perhaps it was just Alice's way of always turning things to her advantage.

Outside, the chairs had nearly all filled up, and Daisy blinked at the crowd of people, a little dazed. There in the front row: was that the Minister for Magic? She was dressed in plain clothes, but she had something of Hugo's bearing; and there was Chief Auror Geoffrey Alderton beside her, and on her other side - was that - Harry Potter?

She was halfway to the door when the light in the room began to shift, and all at once everything went dark, but for a spotlight on the stage. Into it emerged the figure of George Weasley. He held a wand to his throat, his voice magnified. "Ladies and gentlemen, let me welcome you to the event of the year..."

"Sit down!" someone in the audience hissed at Daisy. Panicking, she dropped into a seat at the edge of the middle row, and stared at the stage. The lights were changing again, and a gasp went through the crowd. People started to point upwards. Daisy's jaw dropped. The skies were opening - or, more accurately, the ceiling was opening: it dissolved right away, just like the enchanted ceiling in Hogwarts, but beyond it was not the dusk sky of a winter's evening: it was an inky-black night sky, criss-crossed with fireworks that exploded into a million different patterns and colours, whistling and thundering until they shook right through Daisy's core, and she was on the edge of her seat, face turned up to the stars in wonderment...

"We at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes have always had a fondness for fireworks," George Weasley's voice carried over the shouts and cries as they were restored to darkness once more. "For years, we have striven to provide laughter and entertainment to people all around the wizarding world. But now... we want to be something more." And slowly, the lights were turning on once more, and Daisy gazed around her in disbelief as the scene formed itself. They were no longer sitting; the chairs had disappeared, and they were all standing in what looked like a crowded department store. It was light and airy and grand, and customers weaved around the standing crowd, interspersed with figures in magenta robes. Through the window, the white towers of Gringotts Bank were visible, and past them a blue summer sky.

It was all so real; Daisy could hear the cash registers, could smell the clean, perfumed air. She felt as though she hardly knew herself again when the lights turned back on, and they were returned to that grand room, now lined left and right with dozens of displays. The applause was deafening. George Weasley bowed and bowed again, and finally, raising his voice over the crowd,

"Thank you; thank you. I've just given you a glimpse of what we hope our main branch in Diagon Alley will one day look like. Here in Hogsmeade, it will be a little different. But as you can see..." Gesturing to the displays around them, "We are broadening our horizons." Clearing his throat as the sound of the crowd began to swell once more, "And today, we honour our past as well as our future. In that vein, let me introduce you to our lovely soloist and choir, who are representing Hogwarts today, and will now perform a song for us."

Applause again, this time more muted, and George Weasley left the stage as the spotlight shifted to Alice Longbottom.

In her life, Daisy Abbott had never been very sure of anything. She did not remember her parents, had no clues beyond photographs and what her aunt Hannah could tell her of what they had been like, and it had always felt as though she were missing some piece of the puzzle. She was not sure if she had ever been anything more than a burden to Neville and Hannah; if Enid and Alice had ever been close to loving her as a sister, or just as their playmate. She was not sure if the girls in Ashmole Academy had shunned her out of cruelty, or because she had held herself apart from them.

But sitting there among the audience, with the lights around her flickering, and Alice Longbottom standing on the stage with her hands folded over her stomach and her lips slightly parted, she felt certain of one thing: for the first time in her life, she, Daisy Abbott, was going to win.

The starting note droned and echoed through the room, ponderous as a hunting horn. It faded off, but still Alice made no sound. She stood stock still in the spotlight: the only part of her that appeared capable of motion were her rapidly blinking eyes. A couple of people in the audience tittered. Daisy looked around at them.

Then, as though some other force were directing her movements, she felt herself rise to her feet.

There were Auror guards posted along the side of the hall, but so quickly did Daisy Abbott dart past them, a little, white-clad shadow, that only one pursued her into the greenroom. He stopped as soon as he saw her take her seat at the grand piano that had been placed in the centre of the empty room, and lingered in the threshold at a placating gesture from Albus Potter.

Daisy lifted the lid, and played.

Of course she knew the part. It had become a habit of hers to haunt the door of the music room and listen to the choir's practices; she had heard Mr Shirley play the "The Cloths of Heaven" many times. Her lie in the greenroom had exhilarated her when she had uttered it; out in the audience, watching her cousin frozen on stage, it had sunk her. And now, all she could do was play.

Albus Potter watched her, an interest in his eyes that had no other living thing had ignited there for many weeks. He held his wand aloft, magnifying the sound of the piano so that the audience could hear it, but it was hardly necessary; Daisy played as loudly as she could until the singer on the stage had found her voice. When the melody began to emerge, it was not perfect; but it was plaintive and powerful, and Daisy thought she discerned in her cousin's voice real feeling, real understanding.

" _Had I the heaven's embroidered cloths_

 _Enwrought with golden and silver light,_

 _The blue and the dim and the dark cloths_

 _Of night and light and the half light,_

 _I would spread the cloths under your feet:_

 _But I, being poor, have only my dreams;_

 _I have spread my dreams under your feet;_

 _Tread softly because you tread on my dreams._ "

Afterwards, Daisy always had difficulty remembering what had happened next. She knew that the choir had joined in; she remembered the whistles and cheers and shouts of the audience after the music had faded away; the appreciative voice of George Weasley as he thanked the performers; she remembered rising to her feet and addressing Albus Potter, who still stood in the corner watching her, hands in his pockets.

"I was never here," she said firmly. "Do you understand?"

She did not remember his answer, or if he had even given one, for shortly afterwards the feet of the choir thundered back into the greenroom, and Daisy Abbott had slipped out the back door of Zonko's.

* * *

The sun had not yet disappeared behind the mountains, and everything in the village was cast in that fey light which belonged neither to day nor to night. What had charmed Daisy before now frightened her; she shrank back from the shouts of villagers in their doorways as they hailed another, and cowered away from the dark lanes. The twisted rooftops cast tricksy shadows on the cobbles before her, and more than once she thought she saw shapes darting straight for her, though when she looked around, there was no one.

She hardly knew where she was going as she walked, and it took her longer than it should have to notice the person cowering in the post office yard. He was leaning against the wall and had his head in his hands. "Tobias?"

Her friend looked up at her as she stopped before him, and his eyes were terrified. "What's wrong?"

"I should have told you." Tobias dropped his head into his hands again, rubbed them up and down his scalp, and then shook himself all over. "I should have..."

"Told me what?" Daisy said confusedly. Her mind was still full of music; piano keys floated before her whenever she blinked, and she felt the rhythms thrumming through her body as though she were their possession.

"She's here," Tobias Greengrass whispered.

"Who?"

The wind was rising again, moaning. It was for this reason that Daisy was sure she had misheard the next words her friend spoke. "My mother."

"Your - what?"

"My mother." Tobias was patting his pockets now. He drew out a moonstone ring, and handed it to Daisy. She stared.

"It's beautiful."

"It's _hers_. My mother's. Daisy, she's here. My mother's here, in the village." His eyes were so wide. And now the words were rushing out of him, almost beyond her comprehension. His mother had been sending messages through the ring to meet her - she had thought his brother Will was still in possession of it... "But I wanted to see her, Daisy - and I didn't want her to get herself turned in, that's why I didn't say anything..."

"Slow down." Daisy reached out and grasped Tobias's hands in her own. They were cold. "Did you find her?"

"She found _me_ ," Tobias said his voice shaking, "But she's looking for someone else. She's looking for - " He swallowed hard. "Daisy, she said she's looking for Hannah Longbottom's daughter - but Daisy, she can't do anything, there are Aurors everywhere..."

Daisy Abbott was already running. The wind battered her, seizing her scarf and carrying it away, tousling her hair; heedless, she ran on, back the way she had come. She ran past Dervish and Banges, past Gladrags and Pippin's Potions. Outside the lit windows of the Three Broomsticks pub, she barrelled right into someone.

"Watch where you're going!" a bald warlock with a plaited beard snapped at her, as he bent to pick up his fallen purchases. Daisy stared at them: a box of quills, snapped in half, their ink spilling out onto the pavement, a smashed vial of herbs...

"Well?" The warlock's face loomed into hers, his foul breath washing over her, and she flinched away. "I hope you're gonna pay for all this?"

"Please - I'm sorry..." Daisy began to back away, but he seized hold of her wrist.

"Don't you go running off again, now, miss. You pay me what I'm owed."

"Let her go." A new voice interrupted them, and Hugo Weasley emerged from the door of the Three Broomsticks. "It was an accident."

The warlock's eyes narrowed. "Accident or not, she ought to pay..."

"You've got magic," Hugo said, with a disbelieving smile. "You can fix the damage yourself." As the warlock began to point, he firmly took his hand and shook it; Daisy saw the distinct gold gleam of a Galleon. In another moment, the warlock had packed up his purchases again and left them, grumbling, and then Hugo came forward. "Are you all right?"

Confused, Daisy stared at Hugo. "I thought you were at the reception."

"The reception's over."

"Over?"

"Well, my uncle's in there holding court..." Hugo nodded to the window of the Three Broomsticks, and Daisy rushed to it. Peering in, she went weak at the knees with relief. There, through the criss-crossed panes, she could see the round, laughing faces of her cousins. Her eyes went to the pair of Aurors flanking the doors.

Hugo had moved to her side, and was still talking. "... but 'most everyone else has gone home. My mum had to get back to the Ministry, and so did Uncle Harry. They weren't going to stick around for long anyway." A pause, then, "Is something wrong?"

Daisy blinked. Her mouth formed the words _Daphne Greengrass is here_ , but she did not say them. She knew, even in her confused state, that if she did so, there would be no going back. Not for Tobias, or for his brother. She looked back over her shoulder, the way she had just come. The mountains had swallowed up the sun now, and were pouring darkness over the world. And in their ears blew the wind, a rattling woman's cry, full of grief and anger.

"Daisy?" Hugo had put a hand on her back; his touch was warm, and grounding. Daisy looked back at him, and then she came to a decision. She pulled away from him, sensing his surprised gaze, and backed away a few steps.

"Can I ask you a favour?" Her head turned, and she looked again at the lighted window of the Three Broomsticks, at her cousin's faces. "Will you stay with Alice and Enid? Till the carriages come?" Her mind scrambled. Wherever Hugo Weasley went, Aurors would follow. Her cousins would be safe as long as they stayed with him.

"Yeah, no problem." Hugo sounded confused. "But where are you..."

"There's somewhere I need to be."

"Daisy!" Hugo Weasley's voice pursued her as she ran back up the streets of Hogsmeade, but she did not look back.

* * *

The stairs creaked as Lily Potter ascended to the upstairs parlour of the Three Broomsticks. She hesitated for a moment outside the door, without exactly knowing why, and in that moment she was sure she heard voices from within.

It would have been a perfectly normal thing to hear, had Madam Rosmerta not come down the staircase two minutes ago, and assured her of Albus's being alone up there. Lily had been counting on the fact; when she told Albus of everything she had read in the book about the Guardian, there could not be an audience. She was not sure if what she and Hugo had learned might really endanger them, but it was difficult to forget the feeling of foreboding that had come over her that night in the library.

The voices seemed to be arguing. When Lily raised her fist and knocked, they stopped. After a moment, she heard her brother's voice. "Who is it?"

An immeasurable pause, then Albus drew the door open. The room was dimly lit; Lily's sharp eyes discerned the empty glass of Firewhiskey: the satchel leaning against the chair that looked as though it had been hastily closed. "Who were you talking to?" she demanded as she swept in.

"No one."

"Original," Lily snorted, and paced the length of the room before she turned back. "Al, what aren't you telling me?"

Her brother turned the doorhandle with a click, shutting them in. "Nothing."

Lily closed her eyes for a moment. "Al..."

"You said you had new information?"

"Yes." She drew breath, then told him about what Hugo had seen in the Forest: what she had read about in the library. Albus was quiet as she spoke; he did not attempt to interrupt her once. "This creature is called the Guardian," she said at last. "It appears when there's a breach of magic. Not just any ordinary breach, but a breach of ancient laws, written before there was a Ministry of Magic, or a Council of Wizards, or... anything." Seeing Albus push up his glasses as though he were deep in thought, she carried on, "It's meant to be only a legend, but I think Hugo did see this creature that night. And in the book I read, it said that the Guardian will keep pursuing whoever has broken the law until it has... a blood sacrifice." Lily wound down with a sigh. "You see why I'm worried."

There was a moment's pause, and then Albus said slowly, "No, I'm afraid I really don't."

Lily frowned.

"Has Hugo broken any magical laws?"

"No..."

"Have _you_?"

"No-o-o, but..."

"Has Hugo seen it since?"

"No," said Lily, thinking back.

"Have you?"

She swallowed. "No."

"Then you're not in danger," Albus concluded. "If Hugo did see this Guardian, then it must have been after someone else. There are many strange creatures in the Forest, after all. There's a reason we're not supposed to go in there." He took a step forward, and his green eyes were unreadable behind his glasses as they regarded her. "Lily. Did you really want to get my opinion on this?"

"I..." A lump was forming in her throat.

"Or was it something else?"

All at once, Lily was crying. Albus watched her, his face inscrutable. "You haven't been answering my letters," she said, in between sobs. "I... wish you were still at school. Hugo isn't the same - he doesn't get it like you do. And no one I know wants to talk about - James."

Her brother placed a consoling hand on her shoulder. "I know it's hard, Lily. But we have to move on."

"Move on?" Her eyes, swimming with tears, rose to regard him. Albus Potter's face did not change.

"I have a life, Lily. And so do you. We can't keep going over what happened to James. We have to let go."

Lily listened to him as he went on in a similar vein. And then she shrugged his hand off her shoulder, ran across the room, and slammed the door behind her with violence. When she descended into the Three Broomsticks, the place was emptying of students, as the sound of rolling carriage wheels came from outside the open doors. But Lily backed up until her back had struck the door that led to the bathrooms. The tears were coming so fast now that they almost blinded her: she stepped into the back corridor, and someone grasped her shoulders, turning her about.

"Lily?"

She knew that voice. It set her teeth on edge, made a hard ball of fury clench in her stomach. Yet she forced her features into a smile, as she looked up into the face of Carlos Santini.

* * *

Daisy Abbott tore up High Street, away from the students and Aurors and carriages, as the first clap of thunder shook the sky. A fine rain was falling now through the darkness; more than once, her feet almost slipped on the wet cobbles. Lights were winking out in all of the shop windows she passed; curtains were being drawn, and silhouettes flickered across them as she began to call, "Tobias! _Tobias_!" It was no use; she would never find him in this dark, and now the first wild riders of the storm were making for the village, and the Aurors would find her before anyone else did...

"What are you _doing_?" She was pulled into a doorway, and Tobias stood before her. Breathless with relief, Daisy seized hold of his shoulders.

"They're all right!" She raised her voice over the increasing rain. "Alice and Enid are all right. For now. But we have to find your mother."

"I know where she is." Tobias peered around the doorway, glancing the other way down the street. The sound of rolling carriage wheels echoed towards them. "You should go back to the castle."

"I'm coming with you," Daisy said at once, and in another moment they had stepped back out into the rain. Tobias cast her a sidelong glance as they ran.

"You know, for a Hufflepuff, you've got guts."

"Didn't you listen to the Sorting Hat's song at the start-of-term feast?" she retorted. "We Hufflepuffs will do anything for our friends."

Tobias Greengrass smiled, and his smiles grew stronger. They drew up to the shopfront of Gladrags, and cleared the stone wall beside it one by one. Then they were running through an alley, more narrow than the ones Daisy had seen before: it was so dark that it was almost like a tunnel.

They had just emerged into open air again when the world around them burst into light.

Daisy had read about forked lightning in books, but she had never seen it for herself: in any storms that had come to Arnos Grove, lightning had always been a momentary flash of light, as though someone had lit a candle and blown it out again. But that evening she saw it for the first time in her life, as it rent the sky, illuminating the abandoned cottage, and the dark, winged figure that stood upon its roof.

Then it all came rushing back to her: the moment in the clearing back in the Forbidden Forest, when that same figure had stood before her and struck true terror into her soul. She grabbed Tobias's arm as everything went dark again. "Did you see that?"

His voice was low. "What was it?"

The gate screeched open before them, a howling wind seized them and pushed them forward onto the path, and Daisy Abbott kept her eyes fixed on the spot where the lightning had illuminated the figure. "He's come for me," she said.

"No," came a voice from behind them. "He's come for _me_."

Daisy Abbott's knees struck the ground, and she cried out as the woman seized her by the hair and began to drag her up the path.

"Mum! _Mum_!" The cries of Tobias pierced Daisy's consciousness as she was pulled along, and for a moment she barely felt the stones that were tearing into her skin, in the shock that ensued. This was Daphne Greengrass? This pale woman in her ragged clothing, with wild hair and wilder eyes, who looked more like a witch in a storybook than someone's mother? She jerked her head back a little to see her captor better, and winced at the pain.

"Mum, let her go!" The door of the cottage loomed up before them now; the woman sent it crashing open with a kick.

"Tobias, don't interfere," she said, before she tossed Daisy in like a sack of potatoes. Bare floorboards rose to meet her; Daisy hit the floor and rolled a little way before she came to a stop. Her eyes blinked up at the doorway, in which she could now see the figure of Tobias framed as he looked in at her.

"Daisy, I didn't know - Daisy, I swear..."

Daphne Greengrass seized her son's shoulders, and shook them. " _Tobias_ _._ Go now. Back to the castle. Don't look back."

Her son blinked at her. He looked at Daisy. And then he ran.

The door slammed shut a moment later; Tobias Greengrass was gone, and his mother advanced forward into the room. Her footfalls were loud as thunder to Daisy. She knelt, seized the younger girl by the forearms, and pulled her into a sitting position. Then she grasped her chin, forcing her head up, and Daisy looked properly into the face of Daphne Greengrass for the first time, and saw, with another shock, the grief and longing in it. Lit from below by the lantern in the corner of the room, it looked weird and ghoulish.

"So it's you," the witch murmured. Her fingers dug into the skin of Daisy's neck and she turned her face this way and that, as though she were playing with a doll. The wind howled around the walls of the cottage like a living thing. "You're going to steal him from me."

Daisy's first, absurd thought was of Hugo Weasley; surely this woman couldn't mean him? Somehow, she found her voice. "I... don't want to steal anyone..."

"Don't lie to me!" Thunder rumbled right overhead, and the Greengrass woman let go of her chin, and reached into her pocket. She drew out a silver watch, whose face caught the light of the nearby lantern as it hung from her fingers.

Daisy's stomach lurched, and she reached out instinctively for her father's watch. "Where did you get that? I gave that..."

The force of her slap sent Daisy stumbling backwards, but before she could straighten up again, her captor had caught up to her again and seized her hair once more. Reaching down, she placed her free hand flat on the ground, and before Daisy's astonished eyes a gap of yawning black appeared. Daphne pushed her face down towards it.

"He is mine!" the Greengrass woman's voice sounded, right beside her ear, so loud it made her tremble. "Do you understand? Theo is _mine_." She shoved Daisy's face down further. "And do you know what _that_ is?"

"No..." Daisy's answering whimper barely escaped her lips before Daphne interrupted,

" _That_ is where you'll be going soon. Do you understand?"

"I - think you must have the wrong person. I don't know anyone named Theo..."

A fierce yank on her hair brought tears to her eyes, and her face was turned towards Daphne's. "I told you not to lie to me," the madwoman hissed in her face. " _Daisy_. That's your name, isn't it?"

" _Please_." Daisy was crying in earnest now. Another lightning flash illuminated the bare room, and the woman pulled her back from the hole in the floor, setting her back on her feet.

"Take out your wand."

"W- what?" Disbelieving, Daisy's eyes rose to regard the woman, who was now pointing her own wand at her.

"No questions! _Take out your wand_."

With shaking hands, Daisy Abbott did as Daphne Greengrass told her, drawing out her wand from her pocket and holding it up in the air. Her captor was still gripping one of her shoulders, tightly. "Now, cast a spell."

"W- why..."

"I _told_ you, NO QUESTIONS!" The witch twisted her around by the shoulder; Daisy's piercing cry of pain could be heard over the clap of thunder, and in the silence that followed, as Daphne pulled her back by the hair, a quiet voice carried across to them.

"Daphne."

Her captor went utterly still, and slowly turned her head. There, in the doorway of the cottage, stood a tall, thin man with round spectacles and pale eyes.

"Don't come any closer," snapped Daphne, and the man stayed where he was, holding up both of his pale hands as he said again,

"Daphne." His voice seemed to have an arresting effect on the woman; his eyes were for her alone. He had not looked once at Daisy, and she could have sworn that he was entirely unaware of her presence until he said, "Let her go."

"No." The word ripped from Daphne Greengrass as she tightened her grip on Daisy's hair. But her hands trembled. "No, I _won't_."

"Daphne, she is an innocent." Daisy's terrified eyes watched as the man took a step inside the doorway. Daphne's wand hand shook. "She knows nothing."

"That's not true! You've been writing to her all these months - she's been waiting for you!" Daphne's hand shook more violently, and she gave Daisy's hair a savage twist as though to counteract it. "It was for her you risked coming home, wasn't it?" Her voice cracked. "And you dragged me with you. And you said... you said you were looking for a treasure - oh Theo, why didn't you tell me? _Why_?"

"I should have told you." Daphne whimpered as the man took another step towards them. "I'm sorry, Daphne. I didn't know what to do."

"I gave up everything for you. My home, my boys... because I _love_ you." Daphne burst into tears. "But you... you don't love me anymore."

There was a silence. The wind howled, but it was more distant now, as though the storm had whirled itself away. Then Theodore Nott shook his head, and said, in a voice thick with emotion, "Oh, Daphne."

"Don't... don't come any closer," Daphne cried out. But she was trembling from head to foot now, her grip on Daisy's hair loosening, and as Theodore Nott's footsteps creaked across the cottage, she appeared unable to ward him off.

"It has always been you, Daphne," he said, with a gentle smile. "Always. You know that. All those years you were with Blaise, I hoped against hope - but when you announced your engagement - " He shook his head. "I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep. I couldn't even come to your wedding and wish you happiness: you remember."

"I wish you had come," sobbed Daphne. "M-maybe if you had come, I would have realised I was making a t-t-terrible mistake."

"But that's all over, darling." Theodore Nott's voice was soothing - and very close now. "It's all over, and we're together, and that's the important thing, isn't it, Daphne?"

For a moment, there was no sound but Daphne crying. Then, with something like a sigh, she let go of Daisy.

Theodore Nott took Daphne Greengrass in his arms, and Daisy ran.

Released from her bonds, she was not interested in whatever lover's reunion was playing out behind her: she bolted for the door, and did not look back. By the muffled quality of Daphne Greengrass's sobs, and the gentle, soothing voice of Theodore Nott interspersed with them, she could only imagine that they were in some kind of embrace. But, as one can imagine, it was not her first order of priority to confirm this conjecture.

She only knew that, as she stepped out over the threshold, a howl of rage reached her ears, like that of some wounded animal, and in the next instant, blinding white light had filled her eyelids, and a wave of intense heat hit her back. She stumbled, fumbled in the air for a support that was not there, and, as a rafter fell from the roof of the cottage with an almighty creak, was struck down senseless.

* * *

Theodore Nott had never moved so fast in his life.

The instant Daphne had cast the spell with her wand happened to be the same instant that a bolt of lightning had come down from the sky and struck the cottage. Later, he would have time to puzzle over that mystery: whether it had been the Guardian's doing, or whether whatever incantation Daphne had intended to cast had triggered it. But in the instant that the cottage burst into flame around him, he thought only of one thing.

It had stopped raining outside when he threw himself onto the doorstep, and crawled to her unconscious form. There was an ember in her blonde hair: Theodore snuffed it with his palm, the searing pain barely registering in his mind, and seized her up in his arms. When they had reached a safe distance, he turned back once to look at the cottage. Its rafters crackled with flame; flame licked the main doorway, and Daphne Greengrass stood among it, seemingly untouched by it all. He could no longer hear her cries. Smoke or sadness - he could never tell which - blurred his eyes with tears, as he directed them up, to the winged figure who still stood on the rooftop.

He bowed.

The figure bowed back, the sky opened in a flash of white light, and in the next moment, both it and Daphne were gone.

* * *

What were the words Theodore Nott spoke into the ear of his lover in their last embrace, before she vanished from the world forever? Daisy Abbott never found out, and I can only guess. They were simple words, spoken quickly, and whatever they were, they tore Daphne Greengrass apart forever. She was dead before the flame hit her: dead before the Guardian bore her away.

In the flickering candlelight of the room in the Hog's Head, Theodore watched the sleeping face of Daisy Abbott. She lay outstretched on the sofa where he had placed her. Her blonde hair was fanned around her head, and scattered with ash. Her mouth opened and closed, and in sleep the fingers of her right hand began to uncurl. They were gripping something.

Theodore Nott reached out and gently prised it from her hand. The silver caught the gleam of candlelight, and he fastened the watch onto his left wrist.

* * *

 **A/N:** As always, thanks for reading and reviewing! You guys are the best.

 **Music:** "The Winds Gently Blow Through The Garden" - James Horner, The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas soundtrack

"Dance With Me" - Dario Marianelli, Anna Karenina soundtrack

"The Labyrinth" - Javier Navarrete, Pan's Labyrinth soundtrack


	11. The Innocent

**A/N:** Hello, my lovelies! Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** Copyright J.K. Rowling

* * *

 **Recap:** Daphne Greengrass kidnapped Daisy Abbott in Hogsmeade in the midst of a storm, and was killed when her lover Theodore Nott returned to set things right. Nott has a strange interest in Daisy.

Albus Potter found a map to the Resurrection Stone's location in the Forest, hidden in a clock that was handed in to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes for repair. He then discovered that the Stone has changed owners since the map was drawn, and tracked down the witch Moribund, who gave it to him. Thus far he has failed to tell anyone that he has been using it, though family members have grown suspicious about his antisocial behaviour.

Back at Hallowe'en, Hugo Weasley saved Daisy from mysterious shadows in the Forbidden Forest, and in the process, saw a mysterious creature which he has since discovered is called the Guardian.

* * *

 **Chapter 9: The Innocent**

" _And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free._ " - John 8:32 (KJV)

It was the most afraid he had ever been in his life.

As the storm clouds had gathered around the mountaintop and the sky had grown darker and darker, Theodore Nott had felt a stirring within him. He had risen from the cave where he had taken refuge and struck out on foot: down the unforgiving slopes and into the foothills of the mountains, scree rolling down the path before him. A man possessed, he had not stopped for water or rest. Later, he found blood blisters, angry and red and stretched across the heels of his feet, and was struck by how little he remembered of pain or discomfort on that journey.

It was dark, of course, by the time he came into Hogsmeade, and the winds were so strong and the rain so fierce that no one else was stirring out of doors. Moved to recklessness, Theodore Nott did not even attempt to conceal himself as he made straight for the old apothecary's cottage. He was almost too late. She already had the girl in her grasp: her fist clenched white around a chunk of the girl's hair, and her eyes dark and merciless. Not his Daphne anymore.

And when that hideous night had passed: when the storm had whirled away again, taking Daphne with it, he had brought the girl back to the Hog's Head. He had intended to leave her there, with some note of explanation. Sitting in the dingy guest bedroom, Theodore had gone through many scenarios in his head. Somehow, in all those months of planning, he had never got past the point of meeting her.

The Sneakoscope on the windowsill began to spin and whir. Not enough time. How could he leave her now, when there was so much to be said? He lifted her into his arms and made for the back stairs out of the tavern. Around back gardens and down laneways and through long tunnels, he found his way back to the mountains again.

* * *

Daisy Abbott awoke as the sun was rising. She was sitting with her back against a tree trunk. A greatcoat had been placed around her shoulders. When she looked up, she saw bare stunted branches waving against craggy grey slopes. Then a sharp pain arced through her head, and the image broke into splinters.

"Drink this," said a voice from nearby. She looked up, and saw three Theodore Notts hovering over her. They all held a hipflask to her lips. Daisy coughed, some of the liquid slopping down her chin, and then she drank. Within moments, the sharp pain in her head had eased to a dull throbbing, and the three Theodore Notts had become one again.

"Better?" he asked, taking back the hipflask and dabbing at her chin with a handkerchief as though she were a child.

"Better," Daisy replied.

"Good. Then let's get moving." He pulled her to her feet, and took her hand. "Follow me."

She did as he said, pulling the coat a little tighter around her. "It's cold," she said to his back, after a few minutes' silence had passed.

"Yes," he replied. "We're above the treeline. But we must get more height before the sun is fully up."

Daisy made a noise of assent, as though all of this was perfectly natural to her. They wound their way around a path that jutted out from the mountainside in a zigzag pattern. The wind mumbled in their ears; thankfully, it was nowhere near the beast it had been last night.

"The rain's stopped, too," she said, after another few minutes of silence.

"Yes," Nott said again; after all, it was a fact he could not really dispute. "I think we'll have a clear day." He rounded a corner, and stopped. An impossibly steep path rose up before them, that looked as though it had been hewn into the rock of the mountain. Daisy's heart sank when she saw it. She did not realise that she had stopped moving until her companion turned, came back down the little distance he had travelled, and looked at her.

"Are you afraid?" Theodore Nott said softly. He was looking at her so attentively; Daisy met his gaze for a fleeting instant and then dropped her eyes again. There was something in the wasted planes of his face that overwhelmed her. In another moment, her knees had given way beneath her and she was sitting on the hard, rocky ground.

"Please can you tell me," she said weakly, "What's going on?"

Theodore Nott knelt before her so that their faces were level. She made herself look at him again: she made herself linger on the colourless eyes behind his glasses.

"Daisy, I will tell you everything. I promise. I just need a little time."

"Time?"

"The Aurors will already be on our trail. We only have a few hours before they catch up with us."

"But I haven't done anything wrong," Daisy said. She felt slow and stupid.

Theodore Nott smiled. It was the first time she had seen him do it, and she did not like the sight. There was something strange and bitter about it. "But _I_ have."

A dangerous lump was rising in her throat now, which meant she was going to do one of two things, and soon: scream or burst into tears. So Daisy blurted out, "Why are you talking to me like you know me?"

Theodore Nott just held out a hand to her in response. "A little time, Daisy," he said again. "That's all I ask. A little time, and I will explain everything."

Daisy looked down, nodded, and took his hand. It was hard and callused. He helped her to her feet, and they began to climb. She looked back once, to find the land laid out far below her: patches of brown and dark green inlaid with winding silver ribbons. The castle was not visible, of course: it was tucked behind those hills somewhere. A part of her wondered if she would ever see it again. Up and up they climbed; the wind rose and fell, and the path stretched on and on.

* * *

Tobias Greengrass was sitting at the foot of the gargoyle leading to the Headmaster's Tower when Professor Henry Broadmoor came upon him. He had his head in his hands, and raised it at the sound of the wizard's approaching step, his bleary eyes surprised. "Don't you sleep in the tower?"

"That, Mr Greengrass, is none of your concern," the Headmaster said briskly. To the gargoyle, " _Gawain._ " It moved aside, and he beckoned to Tobias to follow him. "Come up with me. I only have a few minutes to spare."

Their feet were loud on the winding stairs. When they were halfway up, Broadmoor turned to Tobias, and said, with quite a different inflection to his tone, "Were you waiting long?"

"Not long. Few hours."

The door of the office closed, the curtains slid open, and sunlight flooded the room.

"Sit down, Mr Greengrass. A few _hours_?"

"Your Auror came by a few times. I told him I was waiting for you."

"I told him I was waiting for you, _sir_. Let's not forget our manners..."

"My mum's back. And she's done something."

Professor Broadmoor blinked a few times, took off his glasses and then put them on again. "What are you talking about, Tobias?"

"She took my friend somewhere, last night in Hogsmeade," the boy continued, and for the first time there was a tremor in his voice. "Daisy Abbott. She might have hurt her. I don't know…"

"If this is your idea of a joke - '

"A joke?" Tobias Greengrass's dark eyes flashed up into his own, and they were furious. "Why would I joke about this? It's my _mum_. And my friend… and she…" Suddenly he was coughing out angry tears, and Professor Broadmoor put out a placating hand.

"I'm sorry, Tobias. Now, you stay right here while I talk to a few people. We'll find your friend." After one of the heaviest silences Tobias had ever heard, "And your - er - your mother. Wait right here, please."

Professor Broadmoor pushed open the office door and rushed back down the steps he had just ascended, cursing as he went.

* * *

George Weasley and Albus Potter had packed their bags and were preparing to leave the Three Broomsticks when an Auror burst into the abandoned taproom. He didn't look like much more than a boy, pale and sweaty. "Student from the school… kidnapped," he gasped out. "School… on lockdown."

George put down his suitcase. "Where's Harry?"

"Already searching. He left with six others, about an hour ago, when Broadmoor was alerted."

"Left? Left for where?"

The Auror was getting his breath back now. "The mountains." He gestured out the window. "They think the kidnapper must be on foot."

"And why is that?" George asked, following his gaze.

"Because the girl who was taken still has the Trace, and so far no magical activity has been registered near her."

"Merlin." George shook his head, shoulder-to-shoulder with the Auror now as they both stared out the window. "Who's the girl?"

"I'm not sure. Heard her name, but can't remember it. Her uncle's one of the professors in school."

"Daisy Abbott?" It was the first time Albus had spoken: it was the first thing he had said all day. His voice was cracked and dry; he had not slept all night. "The girl who played piano yesterday."

"Who?" George turned, frowning.

"Neville's niece."

Another curse. "Well, I should really help. Albus, where did I put my cloak? Is it in here? No, it must be..." George stopped short as the Auror stepped in front of the main door, blocking his way. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not allowed to let you out. Either of you. It's orders. No one is to leave the village: no Apparating, Floo, Portkeys..."

George Weasley frowned for a moment, folded his arms, and then said, "How old are you?"

"Twenty," the wizard said nervously. "I'm a trainee. You have to spend six months with the Hogwarts guard now, and six months in the Ministry…"

"Right," said George, exchanging a glance with Albus. "And why exactly are we not allowed to leave? We have our shop to get back to, in London." He looked towards the backroom, from which came the sound of clinking glasses. "And I don't think Madam Rosmerta will be thrilled at having to close up her place, either."

"And _I_ don't think you should tell her any of what I just told you," the trainee said in a whisper. "We're not meant to give any details yet; Alderton and Potter don't want the villagers hearing about it." His eyes shifted from George to Albus, and then he looked down, clearing his throat. "But since it's you…"

George opened his mouth, then closed it again. Beside him, Albus asked, "What don't they want the villagers to know?"

"That it's Daphne Greengrass who took the girl."

Albus drew in his breath sharply, and made a surge for the door. "Then we have to go help."

"Please!" the trainee shouted, restraining him; he looked utterly panicked now. "I will use force if necessary!"

"What's all this about?" Madam Rosmerta demanded, coming to the door of the backroom.

"Albus! _Albus_!" George reached for his nephew, as he struggled with the other wizard. "For God's sake, Albus, he might be a trainee, but he's still going to win in a fight over you."

"He doesn't tell - me... where I can and can't go," Albus said furiously, just as the trainee had manoeuvred him into a headlock, sending his glasses crashing to the floor. "If Daphne Greengrass is out there, I need to help find her!"

Madam Rosmerta gasped and turned white, while George heaved a sigh. He winced at the trainee, who was shaking his head. "Sorry. My nephew isn't very good with secrets." Seizing the younger wizard's arm and steering him to the bar, "Albus, come on. Sit down, have a drink. I think we could all use one. Do you have a bottle of Frye's, Rosmerta?" Still stunned, the landlady of the Three Broomsticks did not move or speak. George rose from his stool again. "It's OK. I'll get it."

The trainee Auror took a few wary steps towards them as George moved behind the bar, drawing out a bottle and uncorking it. He seized three glasses, laid them out on the counter, and began to fill them. With a glance at the trainee, "One for you, too?"

"I shouldn't… on duty."

George filled a fourth glass and pushed it towards him. "Drink." He came around again and took a seat, holding his drink but not touching it. Albus put his glasses back on, his hands trembling. "Now," he heard his uncle say to the trainee Auror, "Tell us again what you just said. Start at the beginning. Nice and easy."

* * *

"The most important thing is to keep calm." The Headmaster looked at each of the prefects in turn as he paced up and down before them. They were all standing in a line, while through the doors leading to the Great Hall behind them, they could hear the rumble of many voices. "I'm counting on you all to set an example to the rest of the students. If you don't panic, they won't either. Alicia and Zane will be in charge in the Hall whenever I have to leave."

He reached the end of the line, where Hugo Weasley stood, and came to a stop. A muscle played in his jaw as he regarded the boy, and then, clearing his throat, he stepped towards the Head Boy and Girl, who were standing a little aside. Understanding that they were dismissed, the rest of the prefects began talking amongst themselves as they made their way into the Great Hall.

"This is ridiculous," Hugo heard a Ravenclaw prefect say. "Evacuating the whole castle, just because of one witch?" She stopped short when he turned around to glare at her.

The ceiling of the Great Hall showed a heavy grey sky, and below it the entire student body of Hogwarts mingled around, some sitting, some standing, their loud voices competing in the limited space. It was difficult to distinguish any Houses amongst them, as most students were in Muggle clothes. The prefects were the only ones in uniform. With a start, Hugo remembered that it was Sunday; it had been only yesterday that they had visited Hogsmeade, and held the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes celebrations in Zonko's. How did it feel like so much time had passed already since they had heard the news that morning?

He saw his cousin now, sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table, and to his great surprise, she was conversing with Carlos Santini. "What's he doing here," Hugo said shortly, as he threw down his cloak and sat on the floor, propping his feet against the bench.

"Be nice," Lily told him. "He's actually being helpful for once."

"For once?" Santini repeated, shaking his head. "What's that supposed to…"

"Shut it," Hugo said, and then turned as Alice threw herself down beside him.

"Oh, Hugo! What am I supposed to do? I'm so worried about her!"

"It's OK," Hugo said after a moment, patting Alice's hand awkwardly as she clung to him. "It's going to be OK."

"You don't know that!" Alice cried, before burying her face in Hugo's shoulder. He shifted where he sat, patting her back instead.

Lily cleared her throat pointedly. "Carlos says…"

"Carlos?" Hugo repeated in disbelief.

"... that he saw Daisy yesterday," Lily continued stubbornly. "Just as we were getting ready to leave. She was running up High Street - _away_ from the carriages."

There was a silence - or a pocket of silence among the Gryffindors at least, while the noise of everyone else in the Great Hall continued. Enid Longbottom, who had been sitting a little distance away, edged closer to them on the bench, and Alice lifted her head from Hugo's shoulder, looking at Lily curiously.

Hugo alone was unsurprised by the information. "I saw her too," he said wearily. "She was acting strange. Seemed to be looking for someone."

"Really?" said Alice, intrigued. After a moment's pause, she sighed, and dabbed at her eyes. "Well, I suppose, spending all her time with Tobias Greengrass…"

"Don't have a go at Toby," Carlos Santini broke in, an edge to his voice. "Did the decent thing, didn't he?"

Alice made a face, while Hugo and Lily exchanged uneasy glances. "I don't know about Tobias," Lily started to say, "but Daisy doesn't seem like the type to go looking for trouble."

"I don't know if I'd agree with you on that," Hugo said slowly.

"Yes, we can't forget what she did in the Forest," Alice said. She went on, "You should really tell Broadmoor what you just told us."

"Right, and get her kicked out from the school." Incredulous, Hugo turned to look at the others, and was surprised to find their faces united in agreement. "Are you actually serious?"

"It might help them find her," Alice said gently. "If Broadmoor knew that she had some involvement…"

"Involvement? In her own kidnapping?" Hugo snorted.

"It was Tobias who said she was kidnapped," Lily pointed out.

"What, you think he's lying?"

"He wouldn't lie," Carlos Santini said firmly, but no one appeared to be listening to him: all the attention of the group was now centred on Hugo, who looked to be growing angrier by the second.

"You're her cousin," he said to Alice. "Would you really want her to get into trouble?"

"Of _course_ not," she said at once. "But since we don't know the full story of what happened yet…"

" _You_ don't know the full story," Hugo pointed out. Shaking off Alice's grip, he rose to his feet, a little unsteadily. "But I'm pretty sure I can guess it. Daphne Greengrass is a murderous, blood purist _bitch_. Or have you all forgotten what she did to James? Do you think she's taken Daisy for a picnic somewhere?"

The others were suddenly avoiding his gaze. Only Lily, who had gone pale, spoke up. "Hugo, calm down…"

"And you know what else?" Hugo said, ignoring his cousin. He turned back to look down at Alice, who looked as though she had been slapped in the face. "When I met Daisy yesterday, all she could talk about was you and Enid. She was worried about you. She wanted me to look after you." Shaking his head, his mouth twisted. "But you're right, of course, Alice. I should go tell Broadmoor everything. It's my duty as a prefect, isn't it?"

They called after him as he stalked away, but he barely heard them. Students took one look at his face and scattered out of his way. Seething, Hugo ignored Zane Shacklebolt's questioning glance and stepped past him, out into the Entrance Hall, where he came to an abrupt halt.

At the other side of the white marble monument stood Professors Broadmoor and Longbottom, in close conversation. The words barely reached him from where he was standing, with the noise of the Great Hall at his back.

"Please, Henry, I'm asking you this as a friend. You have to let me go out there."

"Neville, be reasonable. The Aurors have already commenced their search, led by Potter and Alderton. How would you propose to join them, or keep up with them?"

"I did six months' training with the Auror programme…"

"I am aware. But it still does not change the fact that you are a Hogwarts professor now, and you have other responsibilities."

"My responsibility is to _her_ , Henry." Neville's voice was shaking, so much so that Hugo had to strain his ears to hear the next words. "She has no parents: no one looking out for her. And if something h-happens…"

"I am confident that Daisy Abbott will be found," pronounced the Headmaster.

"You wouldn't be so confident if your son had been taken!"

"Neville, that is beside the point and really - "

"I'm begging you, Henry." Neville Longbottom's voice dropped, and the Headmaster was silent for a long time after that.

"The answer is no, Neville." He clapped the other professor on the shoulder as he moved away, distinctly uncomfortable. "Take a moment, if you need to. Now I must get back to my students."

All of the anger had gone out of Hugo like the air out of a popped balloon. He stood silent and unmoving even as the Headmaster came towards him, eyebrows raised. "Weasley? Is there something you wish to discuss with me?"

Hugo opened his mouth, and then closed it again. "No, sir."

"It's all right, Weasley." Professor Broadmoor reached out and clapped him on the shoulder, in the exact same way he had done with Neville. "My sympathy is with you and your family at this time. But until Daphne Greengrass is tracked down…" He steered Hugo back inside the Great Hall. "We must all be patient."

* * *

"I suppose I had better start at the beginning. I was born in London. My mother died when I was quite young. I don't really remember her. I had no siblings, so it was always myself and my father. Dad was quiet. He kept to himself a lot, didn't go out much. Partly because of his past, which I'm sure you've heard about." Theodore Nott glanced back at Daisy Abbott. They were picking their way along the edge of a ravine. Below them was a sharp, sheer drop, and below that forest. The path was too narrow to hold two, so they went one at a time. Every time a stone scrambled down the slope that rose above them, she jumped. "He was a Death Eater. One of the Dark Lord's original followers. By the time I was born, of course, he didn't really buy into the beliefs anymore. He was an intellectual, you see. Unlike the Malfoys and the Blacks, he actually had a mind of his own. It was…" He turned back again. "Are you all right?"

Daisy had stopped, and was clutching to the wall. When she tried to respond, her voice came out as a whimper.

"Don't be scared," Nott said, watching her. "You're safe with me." He held out a hand. "Here."

Still trembling, Daisy took it. He set off again, carefully placing one foot in front of the other. "Dad didn't tell me I was a wizard until the day I got my Hogwarts letter. Can you believe _that_? He told me later that he wanted to keep me away from that world for as long as possible. But in the end, it caught up to me. I wasn't very popular in school, as you can imagine."

The sun peeked out from the growing mass of cloud around it and then hid again, as though frightened by what it had seen. Daisy's breathing eased as they came onto solid ground once more. Nott let go of her hand, and she gathered it into a fist, pressing it against her chest inside the overcoat.

"People thought I was strange." He laughed: a dry, rattling sound, as they turned onto a more sheltered path. "They were right. Most of them stayed away. But some of them liked to play pranks on me, make me look foolish. Daphne Greengrass was one of them."

Daisy was so surprised that she briefly found her voice again. "Daphne Greengrass?"

"Yes, she tormented me, those first few years. But after Harry Potter and his gang put my father in Azkaban - I think she began to feel sorry for me." Nott tilted his head, as though he were thinking hard. Daisy drew in a deep breath and wondered if he could hear her pounding heart.

"We became something like friends, after that. I stayed with her family for the Christmas holidays. I didn't think for a moment that I had a chance with her, of course. She was so beautiful, so outgoing. And I… Daisy." Nott turned again, and she froze, one arm poised above her head. No alarm registered in his eyes. "Give me that."

Daisy handed over the rock. He tossed it away, and turning, walked on. "As we will soon be in complete darkness, I would suggest you keep me alive for now. I know these mountains better than anyone else."

Daisy gulped, as another turn in the path revealed a little way ahead a wrinkled brow of rock, in which there gaped a jagged cave entrance.

"I knew I would not have been Daphne's ideal partner. Let us put it that way. We were together for a time, it's true, but she was just amusing herself. When we left Hogwarts: I had nothing, no job, no money, no family. Daphne, on the other hand…"

"I want to go home."

Theodore Nott stopped walking. He inclined his head towards Daisy, without turning. "You will. Soon. But first there is something I want to show you - "

"I'm not going in there." Emboldened by the sound of her own voice - loud as it was, echoing off the deserted mountainside - Daisy began to back away. "You can't force me."

"Are you afraid of the dark, Daisy?" His voice was gentle.

"You can't force me!" she said again.

"I know I can't." Theodore Nott turned, and held up his hands. He looked so thin and cold, clad in that miserable shirt and trousers, the only adornment of his clothes being the hipflask that gleamed silver at his waist. "You have your wand. You could use it if you wish."

Daisy shook her head. "I don't want to."

"I can't use _mine_ ," he went on, "because the instant I cast a spell, the Trace will be activated and all of the Aurors in the country will be upon us. So what are you afraid of, Daisy?"

"You killed her!" Daisy felt ill, giddy, breathless all at once, as the words that been swirling around inside her for the past few hours began to pour out. "You killed Daphne Greengrass, didn't you?"

Nott squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, as though he were in pain. "There was no other way to stop her. She would have killed you, Daisy. She almost succeeded."

Still breathing hard, Daisy stared at him. " _How_? How was she going to kill me?"

He opened his eyes again and sighed. "You don't understand, do you? Daphne wanted you to cast a spell, do you remember? And if you had done so, the Guardian would have taken you as his sacrifice."

"The Guardian?"

"The Guardian is a creature which appears whenever the ancient laws of magic are threatened. As I have learned." Nott took off his glasses and rubbed the spot on the top of his nose, as though it were hurting him. "To come back here, Daphne and I didn't just threaten those laws - we broke them. We had to. To come back to you."

Daisy ignored this last part; right now, she was not interested in the impossible. "Back in the cottage," she said slowly, "Daphne Greengrass said that the Guardian had come for her, not for me."

"Which was correct. You have not broken any magical laws, at least as far as the Guardian is concerned. However…" Nott put his glasses back on, and fixed her with his gaze once more. "You were a prime target for his blood sacrifice, because of your stolen magic. Had you cast a spell as Daphne wanted you to back in that cottage, your fate would have been sealed. But he took _her_ , instead."

The world was spinning around her again: in the motion she forgot everything but her own rising panic. "How did you - who - "

"Daisy." Nott took a step towards her. "Show me your right hand." When she did not move, he came forward and took it, turning her palm upwards. The half-moon stood out white on her flesh. "You know what this means?"

"No," she whispered.

"Truth." Nott let her hand drop again. "It's an old symbol for truth." He turned away. "And that is what you want, too, isn't it, Daisy? The truth?"

"Yes."

"Then follow me."

Daisy Abbott did as she was told.

* * *

"Another?" said George Weasley, holding out the bottle of Frye, but the trainee Auror shook his head, making a face. He was standing near the door, presumably to guard the entrance, but his nervous demeanour gave off the impression that he was going to bolt at any instant.

"No, thanks."

"It's the strong stuff. You don't drink often?"

"No."

"I'll take some more," Albus Potter said, advancing towards the bar, but his uncle corked the bottle and placed it back on the shelf.

"I think you've had enough."

The trainee Auror raised his voice to address Madam Rosmerta, who was huddled before the fireplace in conversation with someone in the flames. "I must ask that you - er - curtail your Floo communications until the lockdown has been lifted, miss." She ignored him. He turned helplessly to George. "It's the rules."

"I know. But you might as well let her off. It won't do much harm." George Weasley moved from his stool to one of the booths by the window, bringing his glass of Frye with him. He swilled it a little in the glass, looking down at the liquid for a moment before turning his gaze outside. The street was deserted, and the curtains had been drawn in every window he could see. "How long do you think it will last, anyway?"

"It's hard to tell," said the trainee. "Presence-Revealing spells can be extended to a mile radius, but no more than that. So it might take some time to track her down."

"Merlin. I hope nothing happens to her." George considered for a moment. "What's your name, anyway?"

"My name?" The trainee looked uncertain.

"Yes, yours. Albus, will you stop pacing like that? You're making him nervous."

"I'm not nervous," said the trainee defensively, and Albus kept pacing. "My name's Robards. Gael Robards."

"Robards," said George, swilling the Firewhiskey instead and finally taking a sip. "Ah! Robards. I have it now. Your dad was Head of the Auror Office during the war?"

"Uncle," said the trainee. He looked sullen now.

"Ah! Interesting."

"Useful, isn't it?" Albus paused in his pacing to shoot a sidelong glance at Robards, who stayed where he was by the door. "Having friends in high places."

"Albus," said George warningly, and then, to Robards, who had gone red, "I'm - er - sure that you got into your Auror course because you were a very deserving candidate."

"I work hard, if that's what you mean," Robards said angrily. "It's not easy." To Albus, "I'd like to see _you_ try it. Specky git."

Albus swung around, incredulous. "Say that again."

But Robards was hitting his stride now. "And I know your shop - Weasleys' Wizard Whatevers. It's rubbish."

"Is that so?"

"Come on, Albus…"

"You can't even do Muggle stuff right!" the trainee went on. "My mum bought a clock off you and it was faulty. No gears inside. She brought it in and all, never got her money back. Talk about a scam."

"My heart bleeds for her," Albus Potter said calmly. He was right in front of Robards now, and he noticed the trainee's hand twitching towards his wand pocket. "However, in an entreprise as large as Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, you're bound to get the odd faulty product…"

"That's not the point!" the trainee Auror spluttered. "The point is the - what's wrong with him?"

They both turned to see George Weasley struggling up from his seat. His hands braced on the table edge, he seemed to be having difficulty standing. "I'm fine - fine…" his uncle muttered as his nephew came over, attempting to help him.

"He's _not_ fine; he looks like he's about to faint." Apparently finished with her conversation, Madam Rosmerta came striding up to them. "Get him to put his head between his legs." She glanced at Robards, whose jaw was hanging open. "You! Don't just stand there; help this young man to move him."

Gently, they helped George into the right position once he had been seated again. "Was there something in the whiskey?" Albus asked anxiously, after they had been watching him in silence for a few minutes.

Rosmerta's face blanched, and she made for the bar to examine the bottle of Frye, but George held up a hand, mumbling, "Nothing… nothing like that." Slowly, he lifted his head. Albus glanced at their companions.

"Can you give us a minute?"

"I really can't leave you alone,' the trainee Auror began to say, but at a glare from Albus, he assumed a sulky expression and crossed to the other end of the taproom. Madam Rosmerta, still frowning, withdrew behind the bar.

Albus slid into the seat across from his uncle and leaned forward on his elbows. "What's happened?" he whispered. "Is this just about the clock?"

"It wasn't just a clock," George groaned, tipping his face up to the ceiling. "Oh, _Merlin_ , I never wanted to do that Muggle Magic line in the first place! Only loonies like Dad like that stuff, I thought. Why didn't I get rid of it… why didn't I…"

"Uncle George," Albus said flatly. "I'm lost."

"It's pretty simple." George Weasley dropped his hand and stared at his nephew. "I'm an idiot. A total, complete idiot, who hides important information about one of the Deathly Hallows in an old clock and expects no one to ever find it - why are you smiling?"

Quickly, Albus composed his features. "I - I'm not, I'm just relieved it wasn't anything worse."

"Anything worse?" his uncle repeated in a whisper. "Albus, those things are dangerous! They could be used by some Dark Wizard or some…"

"But the clock was handed back to the shop," Albus pointed out, matching his uncle's tones. "So no harm done, right? I doubt his mum…" With a jerk of his head towards the trainee Auror, "would have even understood the map if she did see it."

George Weasley blinked at his nephew, and after a moment, said hoarsely, "You're right. Of course you're right."

"So no harm done," Albus repeated smoothly. He was making to rise from the table when his uncle grabbed hold of his arm.

"The only thing is, Albus, I never said anything about a map." Slowly, George eased back into his chair, without dropping his eyes from his nephew's face. "Did I?"

* * *

In some places they had to stoop, sometimes crawl. The tunnel narrowed and widened and then narrowed again, and all the while Theodore Nott led her along. He felt his way ahead with no light, a blind fish swimming in dark waters. Daisy Abbott clutched his hand and hated him more with every passing minute.

"It surprises me, that you are afraid of the dark." His musing voice broke the silence, when they had been walking for what felt like an hour. "Because _I_ never was. Back in Alexandria - where I was before I came here - I spent most of my days in caverns and tunnels like this."

Daisy ignored him. Her free hand trailed along the wall beside them as they walked. Just when she felt as though the heavy air was going to overwhelm her, there would come a faint current of cold, pushing through her fingers from some unseen crevasse in the rock. Once or twice as she passed close to one, she swore she could hear something like the repeated tapping of a hammer, or the low beat of a drum, echoing through the rock.

"We are at the very heart of the mountain now," Nott said, some time later. "We are in a place older than Hogwarts: older than wizards and witches, than the Guardian, than man. How does that make you feel?"

"What are those noises?" she asked, and he paused ahead of her for a moment, as though listening.

"I don't know. It's a mystery. Do you like mysteries, Daisy?"

"No," she said shortly.

Nott laughed, as he walked on. The sound was startling in the silence. "Me neither. I like things to be explained, down to their very last detail."

This was an opportunity that she could not miss. "Then explain to me how you can kill someone you're supposed to love."

"I thought I had already done that." Nott sounded unconcerned. "Daphne was going to kill you."

"I think you're lying," Daisy said. "I don't think you loved her at all."

There was a silence. His hand squeezed hers, tighter and tighter -

"Stop!" she cried out, her voice echoing and bouncing off the walls all around them. "You're hurting me."

"I'm sorry." Nott had relaxed his grip. "I didn't realise…" He sighed. "You're right. But give me some credit: I did love her, once. My feelings changed."

Daisy shook her head, forgetting that he could not see her in the darkness. "I don't believe that can happen. When you really love someone."

"Well, you would be surprised." There was a strangled quality to Nott's voice, as though her remark had unearthed something old and bitter, deep within him. "We're not patient creatures, after all, are we? We are not built for disappointment after disappointment, rejection after rejection. At a certain point, for pride's sake, if nothing else - we have to stop waiting."

The hairs on the back of Daisy's neck were standing on end. "Is that what happened to you?" Her voice was barely louder than a whisper. "You gave up?"

"I had to. Don't you see that? By the time she had found me again, years later... it was already too late. I wanted to love her the way I once had. But so much time had passed." He fell silent, as though lost in his thoughts. She did not press him anymore, and they walked for some time like that, until the ground before them rose into a slope, and they were climbing again. Far, far up ahead, Daisy began to discern a glimmering of daylight.

"That doesn't answer my question, you know," she said at last, continuing their conversation as though there had been no gap. "Why you killed her."

"I know." The darkness around them was thinning, and Daisy began to make out the shape of Theodore Nott's profile ahead of her: his high forehead, prominent nose and glasses. His head was bowed as though in prayer. "But we are nearly there."

* * *

Albus Potter felt heavy and dull, as though a great weight were sitting in his stomach. Across the table, George Weasley gazed at him, and shook his head quietly. Beyond them, the fire crackled, the sweeping brush swept nonexistent crumbs from around the bar, and Madam Rosmerta talked to Gael Robards in a low voice.

"This explains a lot," his uncle said at last.

"You don't understand," Albus said, gazing at George's shirt collar instead of meeting his eyes.

"What you're going through? Albus, I understand that better than anyone else." His uncle watched him for another long, painful moment before leaning back in his chair. "What _I_ don't understand is how you could keep a secret like this from your mum and your dad."

"Because it has nothing to do with them!"

"But what about me?" George asked. "Did you think about telling _me_?"

"No," Albus said pointedly. "Because I knew you'd react this way."

"You mean the way any normal person would?" his uncle spluttered. "Because Albus, what you're doing _isn't_ normal."

Albus pushed up from the booth and strode away. "Go on, run away," George called after him. "You're just proving that I'm right."

Up the stairs to the private parlour, one foot in front of the other: breathing in and breathing out. It would soon be all right… That heavy, leaden feeling would drop away.

"I've upset you, so now you're going to talk to him. Isn't that right?" George had followed him up the stairs, noiselessly, and now he was behind him in the parlour as Albus stood stock still. "And you think it'll make you feel better. Go on. Summon him."

Albus Potter's hand had automatically reached into the pocket of his trousers, where he could feel the reassuring weight of the Resurrection Stone. He withdrew it again, and snapped at his uncle without turning, "Not with you here."

"And why is that? Why don't you want me to see him? Is it because you're ashamed of what you're doing? Or..." George paused as Albus's head began to droop, "Is it because you know it isn't really James?"

Now Albus was shaking like a leaf in a storm. Behind him, George took a step forward, his feet creaking on the wood-panelled floor. "Now you can either listen to me, or you can go on doing what you're doing. It's your choice, Albus."

"I…" Albus's mouth was dry. "I want…"

With a wave of his wand, his uncle summoned two chairs. One came to rest right behind Albus, and he slipped onto it gratefully.

"You can stay like that, if you prefer. You don't have to look at me. But Albus… you have to listen." George drew a breath, and then started. "That map that you found in the clock: I put it there. I was stupid enough to think that no one would find it. I was lost, for a long time, after the war. Without Fred, I didn't think I could go on. He _was_ me. So I started looking for ways to get him back."

"The Resurrection Stone," Albus said hoarsely.

"I found it in the Forest. I got Harry to describe where he had left it, and I drew a map. He didn't suspect anything - your father. I suppose he didn't think that I would be so stupid. So I went after it."

"And did you see him? Fred?"

There was a moment's pause. "No." There was a finality to the word when George uttered it. "I saw someone who looked just like him, spoke just like him. But he wasn't my brother."

Albus's heart was squeezing, curling into itself tighter and tighter, like fingers forming a fist.

"It wasn't enough for me," George said. "I wanted Fred back: my Fred. So I stole back into the school library, the Ministry archives, Knockturn Alley - I picked up anything I could get my hands on. The oldest books, with the strangest spells." He paused. "And I discovered blood magic."

Flashes of memory passed through Albus's mind, quick as lightning. He saw a spidery symbol on a wall, figures in black cloaks, an inscription on a gravestone. "Like what the Truthseekers used?"

"Maybe. I don't know." George shrugged his shoulders. "I was in way over my head. I went back to the Forest, where I'd left the Stone, and I used one of the spells I'd read about, to try an open… a portal." His voice cracked, and his head dropped. "A portal between the living and the dead. But it went wrong. I had to get help."

"Help?"

"I told your father what I did. He understood. He said we had to get an expert, and he brought Firenze with him to help me to seal the portal again. The Stone was thrown into the Black Lake. We agreed between us that we'd keep the secret forever."

Silence reigned once more. Then, gradually, the two wizards became aware of the sound of shouting outside. Exchanging glances, they went back downstairs just in time to see Gael Robards pass them by in a whirl of black cloak, Madam Rosmerta rushing after him, to join the figures congregating on the street.

"They must have found her." George Weasley blew out his breath. "Thank God." He walked to the door of the tavern, which was swinging shut, and propped it open with a hand. Then he paused. "I'd better go find your dad."

"Wait."

Slowly, George turned back. He walked to where his nephew stood, by the foot of the stairs. He held out his hand. And Albus took it, pressing something into his palm. "Don't tell Dad yet," he said, through gritted teeth, as sobs racked his body. "Please."

"I won't, Albus," George Weasley said quietly, as his hand curled around the Resurrection Stone, and he put it back in his pocket. "Not yet."

* * *

The light hurt her eyes at first, when they came out of the cave, so she closed them, preferring the darkness behind her lids. And it was so cold here: the raw air hurt her throat.

"This is what I wanted to show you." Nott's voice spoke in her ear, startling her. "I discovered this place years ago." Then, more gently, as he took her by the elbow, "Daisy, look."

So she looked.

They stood on a snowy rise overlooking a small valley. Beneath them stretched a lake. It curved around a forested slope and reflected in its frozen depths the craggy black peaks that towered above it. The colours shifted along the ice, greens and blues and silvers. As she watched, she could have sworn that a pool of red fell into their midst, like a drop from the sun, and a moment later, the whole place was ablaze with reds and golds and pinks. Turning her face up, Daisy saw a weak red sun slipping behind the crags.

"Is this magic?" she asked breathlessly.

"Magic, yes," Nott replied. "But not of the usual kind."

Daisy shook her head in wonder. And then, by some strange instinct, she began to move, scrambling down the snow-laden path before her. Her foot caught on a stone; she lost her balance and slid the rest of the way down to the lakeshore. Her feet found purchase again at the bottom, tingling as her shoes were soaked through with snow. She was tingling all over.

"Are you all right?" Theodore Nott had appeared beside her, helping her up. Daisy wrapped her arms around herself, and gradually, she found that something inside her had shifted, and she was smiling. Ignoring the hand he held out, she pressed forward until she had reached the edge of the lake, and knelt, touching her fingers to the ice. It was cold - so much colder than she had been expecting. She snatched her hand back.

"Daisy?"

"This place is beautiful!" she exclaimed as she straightened again, unable to help herself.

Theodore Nott smiled at her. The action transformed his face: his eyes wrinkled at the corners. "I know."

Daisy inhaled deeply, turning and placing her feet carefully as she walked along the lakeshore, so that she would not fall again. She lifted her arms, stretching them out by her side. She looked up, up, right at the sinking sun. There was little warmth from its glow, but when she closed her eyes, she felt it turn her into a thing light as a feather: a creature with wings.

"Daisy?"

His voice tugged her back to earth. She turned, and blinked at him.

"Am I too late?" Theodore Nott said. "You've been alone for so long."

Daisy swallowed. She shook her head. He kept talking, his words dragging her down further. "If I had known sooner, I would have found you. You must believe that. I would never have left you - "

"Please." She stopped him, begged him. "Please, just tell me what you mean."

Behind his glasses, his eyes reflected the sinking sun. "They've been lying to you, Daisy. They never told you that I am your father."

* * *

"Two aces. I win!"

"C'mon, that's not how it works, you have to have a matching suit and rank - "

"Ah, come on, it's just a game…"

"Yeah, but if you want to play it wrong - Weasley, where are you going?"

It had grown dark, and the tables in the Great Hall had been replaced by row upon row of sleeping bags. The sixth-year Gryffindors (along with Carlos Santini) had commandeered a half-dozen, and sat cross-legged around them, playing cards in the flickering candlelight.

Hugo Weasley had been sitting out of the game for the last two rounds, his dark eyes fixed on a huddled figure at the other end of the hall. Now he stood, ignoring McCubbin as he called his name, and made his way across the forest of sleeping bags.

Tobias Greengrass did not look up as he approached. He was reading a book, or at least, pretending to; Hugo doubted whether anyone could make out print in this light. A group of second years sat a little distance away, also playing cards; they formed a wall between him and the rest of the Great Hall.

"I heard what happened," Hugo said, as he stopped beside Greengrass and slid down the wall into a sitting position.

"'Course you did." Greengrass did not look up.

"Did Broadmoor make you come here, with the rest?"

"Yup."

Hugo leaned his head against the wall and looked up, at the dusky ceiling. "I've been wondering," he said after a moment, "about Daisy."

"Mum won't hurt her." Greengrass scowled at his book, and added a moment later, "I hope."

"But did she know?" Hugo turned his head. "Did Daisy know that your mother was around? Did she - "

"She knew nothing," Tobias Greengrass cut across him, putting down his book. His dark eyes bored into Hugo's. "She's just a good friend." With a snort, "She's my only friend."

Hugo took this in, and leaned back against the wall again. A short pause elapsed. "So what will you do now?"

"Will's staying. I'm going." Tobias looked past Hugo, towards the group of second-years who sat behind them. Turning, Hugo recognised Greengrass's little brother amongst them. He didn't so much as look up, though he must have sensed their gazes. "It'll be better for him. Easier to fit in."

"So you'll study at home," Hugo said matter-of-factly. "You know, I did that for a while in fourth year; it's not so bad if you…"

"Yeah, I remember." Tobias shook his head, his mouth set, and pushed himself up from the wall.

"Greengrass," Hugo said, as the other boy began to move away. "Wait a second."

"What is it?" Tobias Greengrass looked weary as he turned back to face the Gryffindor; his dark eyes were much older than thirteen.

Hugo opened and closed his mouth, struggling to find the words. "I know," he said at last, "it hasn't exactly been easy for you, here. And I wish things could have been different. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I'm…"

"Thanks, Weasley. But it's a bit late for that." Tobias Greengrass turned and walked away.

* * *

The sun had disappeared behind the mountains, and darkness was falling rapidly. "I don't believe you."

"I didn't believe it at first, either." Theodore Nott sighed and looked away, his profile framed against the dark mountains. "It was a painful time; I don't like remembering it. Losing Daphne… and my father… I thought at times that I wouldn't survive it. But your mother, Daisy: she was kind to me at a time when I needed it most. She knew what it was to lose someone. I spent only one night with her. A moment of madness, you might call it." He returned his gaze to Daisy's face. "But she never told me about you."

"You're lying."

"She's the one who lied, Daisy. She told you that she was your aunt, and that your sisters were your cousins. Perhaps she even started to believe it herself." Nott gazed at her for a moment more, and then turned to look at the scenery around them. "You know why I brought you here?"

"I don't…"

"There has been so little magic in your life, Daisy. So little beauty, or happiness."

The tears froze on her cheeks. "You don't know anything about my life."

"But I do. Because I _was_ you." Theodore Nott drew in a sharp breath, shaking his head. "And they can't understand, can they, the Daphnes of this world: how it feels to be outside the window, tapping your fingers on the glass."

Suddenly, Daisy was thinking of Hugo Weasley. His eyes lighting the dark, his laugh filling the silence, his smile reaching across the emptiness. "No," she said softly. "They can't."

"You thought things would change," Theodore Nott said gently. "When you got magic. When you came here. You thought that you would become a new person." He took her limp hand in his, turned it over to look again at the symbol carved into her palm. "But it wasn't _real_ , Daisy."

Something was coiling within her, hot and writhing.

"I am telling you that you don't have to be alone anymore. That you can live a real life, with me." Theodore Nott raised his eyes to Daisy's, and saw the wand she was holding in her left hand. "Ah. I was afraid you would do that."

"My life _is_ real," Daisy said through gritted teeth. "My magic _is_ real."

"But not real enough." Nott smiled at her, pressed something into her hand, and let go of it, stepping back. "Not good enough."

"You're not getting away," she shouted. "You stay right there. The Aurors are coming for you - _Impedimenta_!"

A jet of turquoise light came out of her wand tip and glanced past Nott's shoulder. He did not so much as look at it. Without taking his eyes off her face, he reached for his hipflask, and unscrewed it, drinking deeply. Now Daisy could feel a sound like a rushing train: she saw figures on broomsticks coming over the mountain. But something else was happening to Nott. His face was lengthening, his skinny frame filling out. He transformed before her very eyes, and in seconds, the madwoman who had held her captive last night stood in front of her. She smiled at Daisy, and stepped backwards into the lake.

A sound like a gunshot rang out around the valley, echoing off the sides of the mountains. A long crack had appeared in the frozen surface of the lake: little fissures began to branch off it, and bit by bit they grew. Daisy cowered backwards; she did not want to look, she did not want to think about him down there.

An almighty rush of air caught her, and in seconds she was surrounded by Aurors, whose shouting voices filled her ears. Two jumped into the lake where Nott had disappeared: two more bundled Daisy up in a cloak and onto a broomstick. She was lifting up into the air before she knew what was happening, the valley dropping away behind, and strong, warm arms around her.

Her teeth did not stop chattering all the way home.

* * *

The rumble of many feet sounded around the castle as students began to return to their dormitories. Everyone was talking eagerly, and everyone seemed to have their opinion on what had happened to Daphne Greengrass. Some said she had drowned, some said that she had escaped from the Aurors on the back of a dragon: the stories varied, and none of them seemed concerned with what they should have been: with Daisy.

Hugo Weasley was wearied by it all. As soon as he had returned his flock of Gryffindors to the common room, he escaped upstairs to his empty dormitory, and spent a long time sitting by his window. He smoked a cigarette or two, and watched the skeins of smoke drifting out into the night.

A knock at the door roused him from an uneasy doze some time later. "Hugo! Hugo!" It was Lily. "Come quickly!"

He started up, confused and bleary-eyed, and followed his cousin out onto the staircase. They rounded a bend, and as they passed the small gallery that overlooked the common room, Hugo stopped, advancing forward. His hands on the railing, he called down, "What are _you_ doing here?"

Albus Potter looked up at him, a figure standing apart from the crowds of Gryffindors. "I reckon I owe you lot an apology."

"Come _on_ ," Lily said, tugging at his arm, and Hugo allowed her to tug him down the rest of the stairs. Slowly, he came to a halt before Albus. Standing only a few inches away, he could now see the tears in his cousin's eyes.

"What's happened?"

"I have a lot to tell you." Albus blinked. "Hugo, I'm sorry for everything." His eyes shifted to Lily. "These past few months I know - haven't been around - but I promise from now on..."

"Merlin's sake, Al," Hugo said gruffly, before stepping forward and putting his arms around his cousin. They hugged tightly, and all around them the Gryffindors assembled in the common room began to cheer. He said into his cousin's shoulder, his voice muffled, "It's good to have you back."

* * *

A square of orange light fell on the lawn just outside the doors to the Entrance Hall, and Daisy felt a sense of unreality as she stepped over it, helped along by the Auror who had flown her back. More of them were landing behind her, dismounting their broomsticks and talking into their earpieces, a flow of talk so fast and fluid that she could only make out the name _Daphne Greengrass_ repeated several times. It confused her. Why that name? Why not the other?

Neville Longbottom was waiting inside the Entrance Hall. One look at his stricken face was all it took for Daisy to dissolve completely, and in her tears she found herself saying, over and over again, "I'm sorry…"

Her uncle said nothing, just threw his arms around her and hugged her tightly. He did not let her go for a long time.

* * *

George Weasley stepped out of the noisy fug of the Three Broomsticks and joined Harry Potter under the canopy that formed the pub's small smoking area. "So Greengrass is still out there."

"That's right," Harry said grimly, without turning. He was glowering up at the rooftops of the village.

"You can't blame yourself. The girl wasn't hurt."

This was met with a resentful silence. George sighed as he lit a cigarette and held it to his lips. "Do you want one?"

Harry snorted. "Ginny would kill me."

"Better not, then." George studied the flecks of grey in his brother-in-law's hair for a moment, then, tipping the ash of his cigarette before he took another drag, "You were thinking about him a lot today, I reckon."

Harry's silence was confirmation. The door opened, and a burst of noise greeted them, but then someone laughed and it swung closed again, leaving them in relative quiet. George took a drag and blew out the smoke. After a moment, a little lamely, "You can't win 'em all, I suppose."

"I can't think like that," Harry said at once. He turned to look at George. "If you thought you weren't going to make a difference, you couldn't get up in the morning, right?"

"I could," George said slowly, contemplatively. "I do." He exhaled again, in a short, sharp breath. "For me, it's not so much about making a difference. 'Cause most days, I don't. It's just about… getting through it. Living."

Harry turned his back again, silent. After a pause, George said casually, "I was remembering something today. Something you said to me, a long time ago, when I was going through… what I went through." His brother-in-law did not make a sound, but George knew by the sudden tension in his shoulders that he was listening hard. He went on, "You said, 'George, you've got to make a choice. Either to live, or die. But you can't do both. You can't live in between.'"

There was another pause, after which Harry said, in a funny voice, "What made you remember that?"

George shrugged, and doused his cigarette. "There was someone who needed to hear it." He stepped forward, peered out and then gave an exclamation. "Ah! Look at that."

Above the canopy, flakes of snow were whirling down from the night sky. The two wizards stood inches apart in the smoking area, the empty tables and stacked chairs around them, the line of smoke rising from the ashtray where George had put out his cigarette. Snow was falling everywhere: on the Knight Bus that pulled up outside the station house while Carlos Santini helped Tobias Greengrass lift his bags, on the village, and the forest, and the castle beyond it. It sprinkled the heads of Lily, Albus and Hugo as they stood on a balcony, holding their hands out and exclaiming in wonder. It drifted past the window of the hospital wing, where Daisy Abbott was lying awake in bed, turning over the silver watch in her hand.

She went to open the window: she stuck her head right out, even as the icy wind swept into the ward and sent her thin nightgown flapping. Turrets and battlements fell away before her, then darkness. Her mind traced what lay beyond: the lake, the forest, the mountains, the cave, and, somewhere out there...

Him.

* * *

 **A/N:** Go on, binge and read Chapter 10 too! Live a little!

 **Music:** "Eleven" - Stranger Things soundtrack, Dixon and Stein

"The Living Sculptures of Pemberley" - Pride and Prejudice score, Dario Marianelli

"Dragonglass" - Game of Thrones soundtrack, Ramin Djawadi


	12. A New Friend

**Disclaimer** : Copyright JK Rowling

 **Recap:** Rose and Scorpius had a huge argument after he found her rooting through his father's old study. He showed her the broken parts of the Remembrall which his father stole for the Truthseekers, and Albus and Rose, putting two and two together, realised that the Resurrection Stone was encased inside that Remembrall.

Lucinda Scamander's brother was killed in Alexandria, and everyone thinks it was Daphne Greengrass who did it.

 **And in Love and Glory...** Draco Malfoy stole a Remembrall from the Gringotts vault of the leader of the Truthseekers, an insurgent group that attempted to take over Hogwarts two years ago.

* * *

 **Chapter 10: A New Friend**

William Corley was highly impressed by the portrait of Walburga Black that hung in the vestibule of No. 12, Grimmauld Place. His small eyes alighted on it as he was shown inside to hang up his coat, and he seemed disappointed that their whole interview was not to be conducted there when Ron Weasley informed him that the Minister for Magic was waiting in the drawing room upstairs.

"Fine woman... fine woman," he kept saying as he followed Ron up the stairs.

Hermione Weasley did not rise from her seat when William Corley entered, but he hardly noticed the slight, for his eyes were immediately drawn to the immense tapestry that dominated one wall. He advanced towards it, turning his head this way and that as Ron closed the door, shutting them in. "How fine," he murmured, gazing at the various Blacks who scowled back at him. "How very fine."

"You have an interest in genealogy, Mr Corley?"

"Ha! Very good." The Advisor turned to face her with an easy smile; unfazed by Hermione's look of confusion, he continued, "A very good joke indeed, Minister. My name gives me away, I know; and the world must know by now my father was of Muggle blood - Irish, too." He gave an affected shudder. "But I assure you I never see him above once a year."

" _You_ must be the one joking, Mr Corley," responded Hermione in icy tones, "as it can't have escaped your recollection that I'm Muggle-born."

"No! Indeed." With another laugh, "We are both unfortunate. But you had the prudence to marry into a good old pure-blood family, while _I_ , on the other hand..." Corley gave a self-deprecating smile. "Well, a man can't change his name, can he?"

"I must ask, Mr Corley," Hermione said, after a brief pause had elapsed, "whether you came to my house on my day off simply to offend me."

"No!" With a sudden warmth, Corley advanced towards her, and, it seemed, would have clasped her hand had there not been a low table between them. "I come to congratulate you, if I may be allowed, Minister."

"On..."

"On your great good sense in acceding to President Spencer's proposal." He smiled broadly at her. "The alarm of the past week we can now put behind us. The parents in this country are sure to feel more secure, knowing that their children are will now be guard by the finest Aurors both you and he have to offer."

"Ah." Hermione matched his smile. "You're referring to my recent decision to accept the President of MACUSA's offer to reinforce the Hogwarts guard with his own men."

"Yes - indeed, Minister." The first seed of doubt had begun to sprout in William Corley's mind; this meeting was not going the way he had envisaged it. Why was she looking so pleased? It could not mean anything good for him. With a pointed cough, he clasped his hands over his stomach. "Since you seemed so - er - opposed to the project when last we discussed it..."

"Things have changed." Now Hermione looked grim: a much more promising sight. "Daphne Greengrass is back in the country, and we must take precautions."

"Yes, indeed we must, Minister."

"I'm glad you've come, actually, Mr Corley." Hermione moved around the table, taking a step towards him. In her light trousers and loose blouse, she looked like nothing more than a harried mother. But the dark rings around her eyes told another story; Corley was not surprised to see them. Insomnia was the sign of an uneasy conscience, or so he had been told. _He_ had no experience of such things. "For I feel I should congratulate you, too..."

Corley bowed his head in every appearance of humility. "No, Minister, we must give credit where credit is due; were it not for President Spencer - "

"... on your new position."

"Position?" His head snapped up; his eyes narrowed.

"As Head of Security in Hogwarts." Hermione smiled at him. "You will live on the premises, and oversee the staff in their day-to-day following of security procedures. The Aurors will still report to their chief, but everything must go through you." Her smile widened. " _You_ will be my eyes and ears, Corley."

"I - thought - " Corley's mouth was opening and closing. He swallowed, and attempted to regulate his tones before continuing, "Forgive my surprise; I thought you had a very strong objection to oversight at Hogwarts, Mrs Weasley..."

"Oh, I do. But our hands are tied, aren't they?" Hermione cast a glance towards the window. Outside on the narrow street, she knew that a crowd of reporters had gathered, and were likely to linger for some time. "And if it is really necessary to keep an eye on Hogwarts, I would much prefer that it be you than someone from MACUSA." As he was silent, "Of course, it will be a more active role than that of Advisor, and I would not have thought of it had President Spencer not recommended you first."

 _Oh, he did, did he?_

"You have the weekend to clear out your office; you may start on Monday. Geoffrey Alderton will arrange your transport to the castle, along with the Aurors from MACUSA. I am told they have already arrived in the country."

"Thank you, Minister." William Corley straightened, and met her gaze squarely, even as his blood boiled within him. "I will do my best in my new role."

* * *

"He'll have no real power, of course." Hermione Weasley looked over her coffee cup at her husband. "Broadmoor and Geoffrey will still oversee everything."

"Then you've done the right thing." Ron put down the pot and leaned back in his chair. "You know Corley's after your job. With him out of the Ministry, you've one less wand at your back."

"That's true." But after a moment, Hermione dropped her head, pressing the palm of her hand on her forehead as though to alleviate some pain there. "Ron, I'm so tired."

The old table was between them. Her husband looked at her, uncertain, and then stretched out a hand and put it over her left one, which was resting on the table. "I've said it before, Hermione."

"I know," she groaned. "I know what you're going to say. It's too much - too much for me."

"Nothing's too much for you, Hermione," Ron said, laughing. "But maybe... just maybe..."

They both looked up at the sound of quick footsteps down the stairs. Rose came tripping into the basement, and seizing up her coffee cup, drained its last dregs. As her bemused parents watched, she shrugged off her shoulder bag, set it on the table, and rifled through it, cursing.

"Dad?" she said, a moment later. "Can I borrow your Oyster card? Just for today."

"You have your own one, Rose," said her mother, a little crossly, as Ron seized up his wallet.

"I must have left it in Magical Bugs yesterday. Please, I'm in such a hurry." Rose began the arduous process of tying back her hair, then broke off halfway as her father held out the blue card and took it off him. "Thank you - _thank_ you. I've got to go. Queen Anne's going to kill me..."

"And who's she when she's at home?" Ron inquired, as his daughter was hurrying away.

"Only the Head Matron," Rose threw back over her shoulder. "I'm assigned with her today. Everyone in the hospital's terrified of her, even the guards. And she _hates_ Healers. She made one of the trainees cry the other day."

"Well, you're made of sterner stuff than that," her father said comfortably. "You show that Queen Anne what you're made of!" Rose held out a hand in parting as she scrambled back up the stairs, without turning. A moment later, they heard the front door slam. Ron looked back at his wife, who was watching him with her eyebrows raised. "What?"

"You're spoiling that girl."

"Ah, a little spoiling won't do any harm. She has a hard enough time of it, working day and night in that hospital. And for what? She's not even getting paid." But Hermione caught the gleam in Ron's eye, as he rose and started to float the dishes over to the sideboard.

"It's good to see her busy," she remarked, and her husband's emphatic agreement made her smile.

"Good? It's great! She's finally back on track. I really thought for a while that she'd given up on Healing." Ron shook his head, as behind him on the sideboard, the brush rose of its own accord and started to scrub the dishes. "If I told her once, I must have told her a hundred times: with her grades, she'd be wasted working for some paper." Raising his voice, "No offence, Ginny."

"None taken," his sister called from the other end of the room. She had stationed herself by the fireplace, and was taking notes as the voices on the wireless chattered on beside her.

"Honestly," Ron went on earnestly. "I think it's been good for her. Getting away from _him_ , I mean. He was holding her back."

"He has a name," Hermione said, wearily, for this was not the first time her husband had embarked on this subject. "Scorpius."

"Well, Scorpius was holding her back. What are _you_ doing?" This last was addressed to the scrubbing brush, which had started to wave around, splashing soapy water everywhere. Ron moved to adjust it, and when he spoke again a moment later, his voice was more reflective. "When I think about it, it was crazy, how they rushed into things. Living together in that house, and everything. You know, for a while there, I was worried that he'd - "

"What?" Hermione turned around in her chair to regard her husband. He had his back to her, and now seemed reluctant to speak, where a moment before, he had been so eager to give his opinions. At last, he said, uncomfortably,

"You know. Pop the question. Then she'd have been stuck with him, wouldn't she."

Hermione Weasley relaxed her posture again, and bit her lip as she thought. "I don't know, Ron. I wonder sometimes - if we should have been a bit more supportive."

There was a long silence, as her husband processed this. And then Ginny piped up from her spot by the fire. "Yes."

"What?" they said at once, turning towards her.

"Yes, you should have been." Ginny Potter muttered a command to her quill, and straightened in her seat to meet their inquiring gazes, one by one, as it continued writing without her. "Well? Don't look so surprised. They were friends, weren't they?"

"Who?" said Ron. He looked utterly lost.

"Scorpius and James," Ginny said, with a sigh. "That's what Rose always said, anyway." As the other two continued to look at her, uncomprehending, she seized up her quill again and redirected her gaze to her writing. "And if they were friends, then Scorpius surely had nothing to do with what happened."

"Of course we know he had nothing to do with it," Hermione said, after an uncomfortable pause, during which she exchanged a glance with Ron. "We would never have let him over this threshold if we thought he had - but..."

"But what?" Ginny said impatiently. "You're going to blame the boy for his messed-up family? He's only a kid. And Rose: she has a mind of her own, doesn't she?" She shook her head and rose from her table, shutting off the wireless with a click. "You know what? I need a break."

The basement kitchen was silent after she had left it. Hermione and Ron, each wrapped in their own thoughts, did not stir from their positions for a long time.

* * *

On Monday morning, Professor Broadmoor rose from his seat at the staff table, moved to the podium, greeted his students, and with a tight smile, announced a surprise assembly.

Those who had not been reading the papers muttered to one another and exchanged curious glances. Those who _had_ \- Hugo Weasley and his friends at the Gryffindor table included - eyed the doors leading into the Great Hall in wary anticipation.

They were not wrong in their surmise as to who should soon come through them, for as the Headmaster concluded his short announcement, they were thrown open by Tomgallon the caretaker, and into their midst came William Corley, accompanied by applause.

The first thing that struck Hugo about his mother's former Advisor was that he was much smaller in person. He had never seen him except on the cover of the _Prophet_. Short and bow-legged, with a red face and an outlandish toupée, he should not have struck an imposing figure. But there was something which made one think again in looking at him: perhaps it was the way he moved up the central aisle between the House tables, bestowing a smile here and there as though he were in no great hurry; perhaps it was something about his eyes, whose alert expression anyone sitting close enough to the podium could discern as he ascended to shake Broadmoor's hand.

A silence fell over the Hall as the Headmaster returned to the staff table, and William Corley moved behind the podium. He rested a sheaf of papers on the stand, made a show of catching his breath, and at last declared, "Well! That's my exercise for the day."

There was a ripple of uncertain laughter among the students. "My wife's always telling me I should take up jogging," Corley continued. "Apparently it's the new thing. But _I_ think if I just walk up and down here once a day, it should be enough for me. What do _you_ think, Henry?" Turning where he stood with one elbow resting on the stand, he looked back at the staff table. "Could you arrange that?"

The Headmaster laughed in response.

"That's a no, then." William Corley turned back to the students. For the first time, Hugo noticed that there was no magically magnifying quality to the politician's voice, yet somehow, he could still hear every word. Corley shuffled through his papers, then put them down with a sigh. "Now, the Minister wanted me to give you a speech as your new Head of Security, but since we're facing into a long day of classes, I'm going to keep it brief. I think it would be in my best interest. You see, you might find this hard to believe, but I was a student here, once. About a hundred years ago, of course." There was another ripple of laughter at this, a little stronger. "And I used to skive off Charms, just like the rest of you." More laughter. Professor Harris gave a grudging smile as many eyes turned to her.

"But now, of course, things have changed." The politician's voice grew more solemn, and he held off a moment, looking around the hall as though he intended to meet the eye of every individual student before continuing, "And we are living in dangerous times. You've all been reading the papers, I'm sure - or maybe just scanning the headlines..." He conceded the point with a smile, which faded as abruptly as it had appeared. "You all know who's out there. And you understand that in such a situation as we now find ourselves, we can't be too proud to accept help from the outside. So without further ado, I introduce to you the Elite Aurors of MACUSA."

No applause rang out through the Great Hall this time; moved to stillness, everyone watched the figures that strode in through the doors in formation, split up and took positions at various points around the room. There were about a dozen of them, male and female, all clad in white: white tunics, white trousers, white capes. At some unspoken signal, they raised their wands as one.

Corley was still speaking, but no one was paying him much attention now. Lily Potter and Alice Longbottom stared in fascination at the nearest Auror to the Gryffindor table: clean-shaven and blond, he stood straight-backed as a soldier as he held up his wand, staring straight ahead.

"... and so, let us give our new friends a Hogwarts welcome."

Suddenly everyone was clapping again; some were even cheering. Hugo Weasley looked around incredulously. William Corley, apparently finished with his speech, took a seat at the end of the staff table, and as serving dishes materialised before the students, there were _oohs_ and _aaahs_ , for this was no ordinary Monday fare: stacks of pancakes rose higher than Hugo's head, drenched in golden syrup and piled with crispy bacon, carafes of iced tea and lemonade stood in the centre of the table, and a small bowl of cheddar-crusted hash browns had been placed beside each setting.

"That one over there just looked at me - oh Merlin, I swear he just looked at me," Lily was saying to Alice, a little way down the table.

"What's up with you, mate?" Stephen McCubbin nudged Hugo as he speared a piece of bacon on his fork.

"Well, sorry if I'm not jumping on the Portkey with everyone else," the other wizard said, crossly, "but I don't think _our new friends_ seem like much fun - "

"No," McCubbin broke in, as he chewed, "I mean, why do you keep looking over at the Hufflepuff table?"

"No I don't," Hugo said at once, and poured himself some pumpkin juice as his friend, satisfied, fell upon his hash browns.

There was a general groan of disappointment as the warning bell tolled, signalling the end of breakfast. One of the American Aurors, whose white jacket with gold epaulettes showed him to be of a superior rank to the rest, took up a position by the doors, organising students into lines as they left the Hall. Hugo Weasley, shaking his head in disbelief, moved against the tide, towards the other side of the Hall.

Ryan Pratt was on his feet, talking to one of his classmates, and fell silent when he saw who was approaching him. "What do you want, Weasley?"

"Where's Daisy?" Hugo asked, without preamble.

"Daisy?"

"Daisy Abbott."

"Yeah, mate, I knew who you meant," Ryan Pratt said, exchanging an amused glance with his friend. "Just don't know why you're asking me."

"Because you're in her House, Pratt," Hugo said, with barely concealed impatience. "She's out of the hospital wing by now, right?"

"Yeah, they only kept her there for one night, I think." Ryan looked nonplussed.

"And you've seen her around?"

Ryan shrugged, as though this were an adequate response.

"She's not talking to anyone," a Hufflepuff girl who was standing behind them supplied. "She won't come out of her dormitory, except to go to class."

"No one asked you, Tracy."

"There's no need to be rude, Ryan! I was just trying to help."

"Yeah, well..." A little lamely, Ryan Pratt trailed off as the Hufflepuff girl flounced past them and turned back to Hugo. "I dunno where she is." The seventh year frowned, his eyes drifting past the fellow Quidditch captain. Turning, Hugo saw that he was looking at McCubbin, who was waiting for him a few paces away. "But - er - she's been through a lot."

"I know." Suddenly Hugo felt very defensive. "Look, if you see her, can you just tell her I'm looking for her?"

Ryan scratched his ear, apparently uncomfortable to be pushed into a confrontation of this nature. "Well, yeah, fine, but just don't give her a hard time, all right? Abbott's a nice kid."

"I know," Hugo said again. "I didn't - "

"See you around, Weasley." The Hufflepuff turned, beckoned to his friend and left him. Face burning, Hugo joined McCubbin, and did not speak another word until they were in class.

* * *

"I mean, what does he think I'm going to say to her? I'm _nice_." Hugo looked around at his cousins. It was lunchtime, and they were sitting on a bench at the edge of the Quad, wrapped up in scarves and hats as a chilly wind swept the grass. "Well, don't all jump to my defence at once."

Lily and Albus Potter exchanged glances, and then the former said slowly, "You can be a little... prickly."

" _Prickly_?" Hugo repeated.

"But let's focus on the matter at hand," Albus interjected hastily. "You asked Daisy before about what she saw in the Forest, right?"

"Yeah, and she said she couldn't remember anything."

"So maybe it would be a waste of time to talk to her about it. If she can't tell us anything. And besides..." Albus shrugged his shoulders. "She's been through a lot."

"So everyone keeps saying." Hugo studied his gloved hands. "But _I_ couldn't remember the Guardian until Lily showed me the picture in the book. Maybe if I showed it to Daisy..."

"No," Lily and Albus said in unison.

"Fine, fine, don't get anyone else involved, I get it. But if I just ask her a few questions, jog her memory a bit, what could go wrong?"

"If _you_ do it?" Lily said, in a low voice. "A lot." Albus, however, appeared more thoughtful.

"There _is_ something about that Abbott girl," he mused. "Maybe she knows more than she lets on. She seems to me to be the type to keep secrets."

"Secrets? Nah, you've got her all wrong," Hugo said confidently. "Abbott's a straightforward kind of girl. What you see is what you get, you know."

"Still waters run deep," Albus said loftily, causing his cousin to roll his eyes.

"But what are we going to do about the Forest?" Lily rose from the bench and turned to face them, rubbing her hands together to keep warm. She lowered her voice. "You know, the portal Uncle George was talking about? Do you think it's still open?"

"I can't think of any other explanation for what Hugo saw," Albus said, matching her tones. "If some forbidden blood magic was used, that would explain the Guardian's presence. And these shadow creatures..."

"Like Dementors," Hugo said eagerly. "My Patronus drove them away, just the same."

"Like Dementors, but not like Dementors." Albus joined his sister standing and as Hugo rose to his feet, they began to walk across the Quad together, the wind flapping their cloaks around their ankles. "From some other realm? The realm of the dead?"

The words sent goosebumps coursing down Hugo's arms. Beside him, Lily shivered. "Like where James is?"

"Not James," Albus said quickly, as though to remind himself of something. "The Resurrection Stone's imitation of him." A shadow fell over his face. "But he described it to me as a kind of dark, lonely place. Maybe that's where these creatures came from, too? Oh, why didn't I ask him - if I hadn't given the Stone to George..."

"No," Hugo said firmly. "You can't think like that. The Stone's in better hands now."

"I wish I could have seen him," Lily said wistfully, and the other two were silent.

"We should talk to Firenze, too," Albus said, after a moment's pause had elapsed. They were coming up to the entrance to the cloisters. "George told me he helped him to close the portal."

"Maybe he can do it properly this time," Hugo muttered, and then a white-robed figure stepped out from the cloisters and into their path, causing them all to halt.

"Excuse me, sir," the Auror said, directing his words to Albus alone, "Are you a student here?"

"Oh, er, no," Albus said apologetically. "Sorry, I'm with my dad: he's consulting with Professor Broadmoor about the investigation around Daphne Greengrass and I thought I'd come down to see my cousins..."

"I must ask you to remove yourself from the premises in the interests of security." The Auror regarded him through impassive blue eyes. "If you do not cooperate, I will have to use force."

"Surely that's not - " Hugo spluttered, but Albus broke in hurriedly,

"That's fine. I'll - er - cooperate." He stepped towards Hugo, and lowering his voice, said, "I'll Floo you tonight. In the meantime, you can - "

"Sir, I'm afraid that my team will be monitoring all Floo communications, ingoing and outgoing, from this time on," said the Auror. Albus, whose eyes had widened at the interruption, silently cursed as he stepped away again.

"I'll write," he said feebly, and lifted a hand in parting before following the Auror.

Lily and Hugo, flabbergasted, stared at each other for a moment.

"Unbelievable," Hugo said, shaking his head.

"Yeah." Lily had a dreamy smile on her face as she stared after the retreating figure of the Auror.

"Oh, come on." With the sudden sense that he was fighting a losing battle, Hugo Weasley seized his cousin's arm and steered her in the opposite direction to the Auror. "We've got work to do."

* * *

The sky was a pretty postcard blue, bees hummed somewhere out of sight, and a gentle breeze sent ripples across the pool. Daisy Abbott was sitting on the stone bench in the hollow where she and Tobias had often done their homework before. It felt nice to get away from the miserable cold of the grounds, or so she kept telling herself every few minutes. The truth was, she did not know how to feel nice about anything again.

She had risen early, and skipped breakfast, just as she had done every morning since she had left the hospital wing. It was strange to think that at the start of the year, she had found it so difficult to get up in time for class. Now it was no struggle: she lay awake in her dormitory for hours before sunrise, waiting for the light to creep in the window.

In this way, she had made the acquaintance of one of the house-elves who cleaned the Hufflepuff common room. He had taken pity on her on the first morning, and told her that he could save her a little something from the meals that were sent up to the Great Hall. So Daisy dropped into the kitchens on her way out to the memorial garden, and wrapped up whatever he gave her, taking it with her. They had carried on this ritual for six days without anyone attempting to stop them.

But on the seventh morning, Daisy had sensed something different in the air as soon as she had stepped into the kitchen. The place was more busy than she had seen it before, with house elves shouting to one another as they hefted steaming pots taller than themselves and slammed oven doors shut. She had spotted her special friend scrubbing the tiles above the fireplace, and his regretful shake of the head had told her that today was no ordinary day.

Carriages were rolling up the drive to the castle as she emerged between the double doors, and that made her curious, too. They were drawn not by those invisible steeds that Madam Bulstrode had called Thestrals, but by horses with shining harnesses and gleaming coats.

"Yanks," said the Auror who was escorting her, with a dark look, and he would not say any more about the matter. They drew up to the stile that led to the memorial garden. "Don't be too long, now."

But Daisy _had_ been long. She knew from her watch - from the watch Nott had so obligingly given back to her - that it was almost time for class, and here she was, still.

Tobias would laugh, if he were here, and tell her to stop moping. _God knows_ he _has more to mope about than I do_ , thought Daisy, and yet she was sure that wherever he was now, he was getting on with things, just as he always had.

"Are you saving that seat?"

Daisy gave a start, and looked up to see Lucinda Scamander pushing in to the little hollow. She was as freckled and boyish as ever, though she had grown her hair out a bit, and she had the same toothy smile with which she had greeted Daisy that first morning on the Hogwarts Express. "Lu! What are you doing here?"

"I always visit this place after breakfast," the girl said, with a shrug. "Saw you, and thought I'd say hello."

"Won't you sit down for a minute?" pleaded Daisy, who did not want to think about going back just yet. Lu obliged, her eyes widening as she did so, as though she had been struck by a new thought.

"I'm not disturbing you, am I? Lorcan says I never know when I'm not wanted."

"No," Daisy said slowly. The girl's bluntness seemed to be rubbing off on her: she had a sudden desire to be honest. "But I haven't seen you in so long - I thought you might be angry at me for something."

"No, that's not it." Lu looked sheepish. She kicked her legs a little and then shaded her eyes from the sun. "It's just - you were always with Tobias, before..." Seeing Daisy's expression, she rushed on, "I can't help it. It's like one half of me knows he's a good bloke, and it's not his fault what his mother did, but then the other half of me - just wants to punch him whenever I see him."

"I suppose I can't really blame you for that," Daisy said flatly. "Anyway, at least you won't be seeing him anymore." She turned on the bench so she was facing Lu. "How are you coping?"

"Fine," Lucinda Scamander said automatically. "Well - not fine, of course. I was sick all day when they told me Daphne Greengrass had kidnapped you. I thought you were a goner for sure, like him."

"Like your brother?"

"Yeah." Lu rubbed her nose. "But anyway, most of the time, I'm fine, you know? I'm way younger than the twins, I never got to know Lysander. So that's good."

"But that almost makes it harder," Daisy said reflectively. The other girl's words had made her draw into herself, and she was not thinking about softening the blow anymore as she continued, "Doesn't it? Because you've lost the opportunity of ever getting to know him."

She surfaced from her reverie a moment later, and felt like kicking herself, but Lu just gave her a knowing look. "Like with your parents?"

Suddenly, Daisy wanted the conversation to be over. But she made herself linger; she made herself agree. What else could she do? She could not tell Lucinda that all her life, the thought of her dead parents had been a solid thing for her to cling to: the photograph by her bed, the scribbled signature on the page of an old schoolbook - and now Theodore Nott had stolen those things from her. Now, they were smoky, insubstantial figures that fled before the searchlight of her memory. No, she couldn't tell Lucinda that.

"There's a rumour going around," Lu said, "that you played the accompaniment for Alice the day Mr Shirley was sick."

Daisy cast her mind back to the time to which her friend was referring, just a little over a week ago. It had seemed so important to her then that no one should know. Why? She couldn't for the life of her remember.

"Yeah, it was me," she said wearily. "I didn't want to see her make a fool of herself."

"Pity. That would have been fun." At Daisy's stern look, Lu threw up her hands. "What? Alice Longbottom gets all of the solos, just because Mr Shirley's afraid of her. Someone needs to take her down a peg or two."

"Maybe," Daisy said. She looked at her watch again and rose to her feet with a reluctant sigh. "But it's not going to be me."

"You know Mr Shirley's looking for singers for the Christmas concert on Friday," Lucinda said, rising too.

"I thought it was too late to join Music Club. I couldn't complete the forms last time: Alice told me to try again in second term."

"Yeah, _Alice_ did." Lu snorted. "Don't be thick, Daisy! Mr Shirley doesn't care about some stupid forms. If you've talent, that's enough for him."

"I don't know... with exams coming up, and everything."

"Just think about it." Lucinda tripped along behind her. They left the hollow, came back onto the path and climbed up to the footbridge. The imprint of the strong sun and fresh green of the garden remained on their eyelids long after they had returned to the cold, barren grounds.

* * *

Rose Weasley angrily brushed the tears from her eyes as she ran out of the ward.

"Go on, get out!" the Head Matron shouted after her. "I've no time for blubberers! Come back when you've grown a backbone!"

The corridor of Mortal Maladies was thankfully empty, but Rose had the misfortune to pass two Healers outside Permanent Spell Damage, who regarded her sympathetically. "There goes another one," she heard one of them say, and another, "Queen Anne strikes again."

By the time the crawling staff lift had brought her to the ground floor, however, Rose was regretting her bout of tears. She gave herself a stern talking-to as she emerged into the crowded reception. So the Head Matron had managed to make her question all of her life choices within a few minutes of their being assigned together. So what? If she couldn't handle that, well...

Reception was mayhem, as it always was at this time, and Rose stuck to the edges of the lobby, making for the back exit. She had almost escaped the crowds when a commanding voice made her stop in her tracks.

"You there! Yes, _you_! Come over here!"

An old man with shoulder-length grey hair and a long, pointed nose was hailing her from a wheelchair. Rose's heart sank as she saw who he was with.

If Lucius Malfoy recognised her, however, he gave no hint of it. His beady, yellowed eyes regarded her as she came up. "You're a Healer, yes? Or do you just wear the robes for fun?"

"I'm... ah..." Not for the first time that day, Rose found herself tongue-tied.

"Don't bother her, Granddad," Scorpius said to the older wizard. He was standing behind him, holding the push handles, and showed no visible reaction to Rose's presence. "She's probably busy."

"We have been waiting here," Lucius went on, ignoring his grandson, "for half an hour. The witch at the reception desk told us that Healer Rookwood would be right down to escort us up to the fourth floor, and since then we've been ignored. Tell me, what does it take to get someone's attention here? Do I need to be dying on the spot?"

Recovering something of her composure, Rose arranged her features into a placid smile. "I can bring you up to the fourth floor, sir."

"You don't have to - " Scorpius started, but Rose was already stepping forward and reaching for the push handles of his grandfather's wheelchair, so that he had no choice but to let go.

"We'll take the staff lift, as it's closer," Rose went on as she started to push the wheelchair out of the lobby. "I believe Healer Rookwood is in surgery at the moment, but the Head Matron will be happy to see you."

"Matron?" Lucius Malfoy repeated, in a voice laced with disdain. "So I'm being fobbed off on some nurse?"

Rose ignored him as the lift doors opened before them. "I'm coming too," Scorpius said, stepping after them.

"You're as bad as Narcissa, boy," Lucius said to his grandson. "Fussing and clucking like a motherhen."

The lift creaked, jerked, and started to rise. Scorpius cast a sidelong glance at Rose. She looked so different in her Healer robes, with her hair scraped back in a bun and her blue eyes unwavering.

"Are you here for an appointment?" she calmly inquired when they were somewhere around level two.

"Yes, a check-up. Don't worry, I won't be taking one of your louse-ridden beds."

"Granddad!" Scorpius said, appalled, but Rose simply smiled.

"That's the saddest news I've heard all day."

Lucius Malfoy raised his eyebrows, half-turned his head to regard Rose, and then settled back in his chair again, his features relaxing into their customary scowl.

After what seemed an interminable ascent, the lift doors juddered open, and Rose wheeled the old wizard out, with Scorpius following behind. The two Healers were still talking outside Permanent Spell Damage; they both turned in surprise to see that Rose had come back, then shrugged to one another. Inside Mortal Maladies, the Head Matron was hefting herself up the corridor, and checked her stride as she saw the trio entering.

The dreaded personage whom most of Mungo's called Queen Anne was a large woman, with rolls of fat under her sizeable chin and hands the size of dining plates. Her eyes narrowed as they landed on Rose, but all she said was, "Well?"

"Madam Price, this is Mr Lucius Malfoy," Rose said neutrally. "He has an appointment with Healer Rookwood."

"I _had_ an appointment," Lucius Malfoy interrupted, "half an hour ago. I have been waiting down in the lobby ever since, unattended. It is nothing short of a _disgrace_. Do you know - " He pointed a finger at the Head Matron, " - how much money I have poured into this place? Where did it all go? Hmm?"

Rose allowed herself a secret smile at the expression on the matron's face. Queen Anne had gone brick red, staring at the finger that Malfoy was pointing at her. But a moment later, she seemed to collect herself. "Yes, Mr Malfoy. Healer Rookwood is busy at the moment, but he left me your file. If you will follow me into my office."

The group advanced towards the indicated door. Once Rose had wheeled Lucius inside, the Head Matron fixed her with a look. "That will be all, Weasley. Thank you."

With considerable effort, Rose held Queen Anne's steely gaze, and then let go of the push handles. Scorpius moved to open the door for her. As she walked out, the last thing she heard was Lucius Malfoy's contemptuous voice. " _Weasley_? Well, that explains it."

Rose had little trouble keeping herself busy when released from the critical eye of the Matron. In the Hazel Fletcher ward alone there were a dozen beds, and then there were injections to administer, cases to write up, and bloods to take. She was observing a patient with a blood malediction alongside one of the Healers when Queen Anne stumped into the ward and came up to join them.

"Alcoholic hepatitis," she said briefly.

"What?" Rose turned to look at her.

"Don't say _what_ ," the Matron said. "Never say _what_. You should always be up to speed on all cases. I'm talking about Lucius Malfoy, of course. He is suffering from inflammation of the liver. It is fairly common with heavy drinkers, and with men of his age. As such, it is relatively easy to treat at home; however, at Healer Rookwood's request, I am keeping him overnight for observation."

"He won't like that."

"What was that, Weasley?"

"Nothing, nothing."

Queen Anne gave her a piercing glance, then began to wobble away. As she was passing the next bed she stopped, and turned again. "One of the trainees assigned on the night shift has to go to a funeral." She looked at Rose. "Can you stay on instead?"

A part of Rose wanted to punch the air in triumph; another part of her wanted to sink into the floor in contemplation of the long, wearisome hours ahead. In the end, she just nodded.

"Good," said the Head Matron. "Now get back to work, Weasley."

* * *

Over the past week, Daisy Abbott had become very much acquainted with the girls' bathroom on the first floor of the castle. It was small but clean, with three stalls, and the last one, Daisy had discovered, boasted a window from which one could hear the class bells. Girls would come in and out, of course, but in her stall with the door shut firmly and the toilet seat turned down, she was seldom disturbed.

She often brought a book, which she would read for a while after finishing her sandwich (the eating component of lunch break always seemed to be over too soon), and finally, as the bell would ring again, she would dawdle until the last second and then head out to the class.

This, like most strategies of its kind, worked very well for Daisy, until it didn't.

After Charms class, Daisy packed her bag with her usual haste and exited the classroom before any of the others. She was on the first floor by the time the second bell had rung, and safe in her stall by the time the rumble of feet had begun to sound through the corridors outside. There were the usual sounds that accompanied this: the door swinging open, girls laughing together and talking enthusiastically about people whom she had never heard of, the _thunk_ of a bag being set down in the cubicle next to hers as one of the girls entered it while her friend lingered by the mirror.

Then, a new sound: the door swinging open once more and someone clearing their throat, breaking through the girls' chatter. "Excuse me, we are closing up all upstairs restrooms for the duration of the lunch period."

The voice was female, American-accented. The girls giggled and said, "OK." Daisy stared at the closed door of her cubicle and felt her heart sink. She drew her feet up until she was hugging her legs, lifted her bag as quietly as she could, and prayed that the woman would think that the door to this particular stall was merely stuck.

"Ma'am? Excuse me, ma'am? I'm gonna have to ask you to come out."

The other girls had left now. Daisy squeezed her eyes shut, then said, "Er - all right."

When she emerged, she saw that the woman was one of the new Aurors. Her white uniform, a tight-fitting tunic and trousers, was almost dazzling to the eye. She had short hair, perfect teeth and the kind of clean good looks one seldom found this side of the Atlantic. The woman's eyes slid to the hastily wrapped sandwich in Daisy's hand, and she said in a monotone, "Ma'am, it is prohibited to consume your lunch here."

Daisy had gone over the edge of embarrassment and was by this time somewhere in the abyss of mortification. "I'm sorry," she said, stuffing the sandwich back in her bag and going to the taps. As she was washing her hands, the Auror lingered by the door, and when she looked up at her again, something in the woman's expression had softened.

"You don't wanna be stuck indoors all day," she said gently. "Go on out and get some fresh air."

"Thank you," Daisy Abbott said quickly, ducking her head and hurrying out into the corridor. So much for her strategies: these new Aurors seemed determined on disrupting everything. Perhaps she would just have to spend all of her lunchtimes in her dormitory now; though she didn't like the thought, it seemed the most viable option -

" _There_ you are."

Hugo Weasley caught up with her at the top of the marble staircase; she had not noticed him approaching. Daisy looked around, a little desperately, for an escape route, as this was the very thing she had been hoping to avoid.

"You don't have to look so happy to see me." As she looked at him uncomprehendingly, Hugo sighed, took hold of her elbow and steered her towards a door off the corridor. "I've been looking for you."

"Ryan told me," Daisy said before she could help it. They had entered an empty classroom: on the board were chalked various dates of goblin uprisings. "Should we be in here?"

"No," Hugo said, as he braced his hands on the edge of a table and hauled himself onto it. "Doesn't matter." He looked at her inquisitively. "So why have you been hiding, anyway?"

"Don't know," Daisy replied, quite honestly. She pulled out a chair and sat in it, pulling her bag onto her lap. If she wasn't going to get to eat her lunch anywhere else, it might as well be here. "I figured people want to know what happened, you know, last week, and I don't want to... I don't feel comfortable..."

Hugo was shaking his head. "That's not what I want to talk to you about."

Daisy was almost breathless with relief. To talk to anyone else about her encounter with "Daphne Greengrass" would have been difficult, but with Hugo, she knew it would have been impossible. She felt as though all he had to do was give her one of those rare, earnest looks of his - like the one he was giving her now - ask a few well-placed questions, and the truth would just come gushing out of her like blood from an open wound.

"I wanted to pick your brain about something," Hugo went on. "Now, I know you told me before that you couldn't remember anything about the Forest, but I thought - oh dear Lord, what is that?"

Daisy, who had just fished her half-eaten sandwich out of her bag, looked at him in surprise. Hugo was aghast. "That's your _lunch_?"

Haltingly, she began to explain about her house-elf friend in the kitchens, and how the coming of the American Aurors had disrupted things to the extent that he could not supply her as well as he had before. Hugo shook his head all the way through, his eyes fixed on her sandwich as though he could not tear them away, and when she had finished, he pushed off the table and strode to her chair, taking her hand. "Come on."

"I don't want to go to the Great Hall," Daisy protested as he dragged her down the staircase. A few passing students turned to look at them, but Hugo didn't seem to care. "Honestly, I'm not even that hungry..."

But before long, she realised that he was not taking her to the Great Hall, but to the kitchens. He stopped before the painting of the bowl of fruit, dropped her hand, and tickled the pear with as practiced a gesture as though he came here as often as she did: which, Daisy soon saw, he most certainly did. Indeed, it seemed that he had been visiting there for a long time. Not long after they entered, a wizened house elf wearing a large apron came right up to Hugo, beaming from ear to ear.

"Mr Weasley? What can I do for you today?"

Hugo looked at Daisy questioningly. "What would you like?"

"I - anything," she said, flustered. With a shrug, Hugo turned back to the elf.

"Can you do us up one of those Cornish pasties, Pitts?"

"Certainly, Mr Weasley, it would be my pleasure..."

"Actually, on second thought," Hugo said, as the house elf began to hurry away, "Make that two, please, Pitts." He turned back to Daisy, who was looking around the kitchen. "Your friend not here today, then?"

"I can't see him anywhere," she said, and then, a little shyly, " _You_ seem to have a lot of friends here."

Hugo laughed. "I'm just lucky. They've always been fond of the Weasleys." In an exaggerated whisper, "And my mum did kind of invent house elf rights."

Daisy didn't quite know what to say to this. She stood, shuffling her feet as they waited, while Hugo appeared entirely at his ease. The light from the fireplace flickered across his tanned face. Glancing at him, Daisy reflected that he was in his element.

"Well? What do you think?"

They were sitting on a bench at the corner of the western courtyard, which was mostly empty. Although the Auror hadn't been lying about it being a nice day, most students were out walking by the lake or around the Quad.

Daisy Abbott bit into the hot pastry, savouring the spicy meat contained within, chewed and swallowed. "It's... like heaven."

"What did I tell you." Hugo leaned back against the bench, throwing up one arm. Had the bench been a bit shorter, it would have been right behind her shoulders: Daisy took another bite to rid herself of these distracting thoughts.

She had not realised how hungry she was: how much she had craved a good, hot meal. The warmth filled her, and as she sat there, sneaking sidelong glances at Hugo as she ate, a warmth of a different kind began to blossom within her. He had never been so nice to her before. He had brought her to get food: and they were sitting here, eating together as though they well - _were_ together. Oh, if Alice could see them now...

Daisy had the sudden urge to giggle. A moment later, she reprimanded herself. Hadn't she had this argument with herself about Hugo Weasley countless times before? And didn't it always end the same way? All at once, the bitter words Theodore Nott had spoken in the cave came back to her. _We are not built for disappointment after disappointment, rejection after rejection._

The thought of Nott was sobering, and Daisy straightened in her seat.

"Finished?" Hugo asked. He had demolished his pasty within a minute of their sitting down.

"Not yet."

"OK, well there was just one thing..." He rummaged through his bag, took out a heavy volume, and began to thumb through it, "... I wanted you to look at."

Something within Daisy had deflated, but she told herself it was just relief, like before. Of _course_ he had not sought her out for the pleasure of her company. How could she have thought that, even for a moment? He had simply taken pity on her when he had seen her pathetic lunch, and brought her to the kitchens out of the kindness of his heart.

Now that Daisy had scolded herself into being sensible again, a new obstacle soon presented itself: as Hugo held out the book before her and turned to a page depicting the creature that still haunted her nightmares. "Have you ever seen this before?"

A moment of awful suspense, during which she felt sure he must know everything, and then she said, "No."

"He's called the Guardian," Hugo said in an undertone, with one finger tracing the outline of the black-winged figure, then pausing at its yellow eyes. "You're sure you don't remember seeing him? In the Forest, maybe, that time?"

Daisy took another bite of her Cornish pasty. Chewing, she answered once more, "No."

"Right." Hugo slumped back in his seat, replacing the book in his bag. "Well, thanks anyway."

He looked so crestfallen that something tugged at Daisy's heart, and she heard herself say, "But I know about him."

"Really?" Interest sparked in his eyes again as he looked towards her.

"A bit," Daisy said, as nonchalantly as she could. She screwed up her face as though she were trying to remember something. "The Guardian: he appears when the laws of magic have been broken, right?"

"Yes." Hugo was still regarding her intently. _Stop, Daisy, stop now..._ "How do you know that?"

Daisy took a deep breath, and did not look at him as she said, "Daphne Greengrass told me."

"Daphne - of course." Hugo was packing his things and rising from the bench before she even understood what was happening. "Thank you." He rested a hand on her shoulder for a moment before departing. "You've helped a lot."

Daisy felt like kicking herself. She hadn't helped; she'd just lied, and made everything worse. And what if he put two and two together? What if he figured out that Daisy was lying about seeing the Guardian that night: that the Guardian had attacked her because of her stolen magic?

There was nothing for it, she concluded with a shake of the head. When it came to Hugo Weasley, it was clear that she lost all sense altogether.

* * *

Hugo burst into the library. It was crowded at this time of day, and several people looked at him as he walked among the shelves, until he came to the group of tables where the Gryffindors usually went. Lily was the only one there at the moment, and she looked up curiously as he approached, brushing a section of straight red hair out of her eye. "What's up? Why are you so out of breath?"

Hugo dropped into the chair beside her, leaned back, running his hands over his cropped hair, and finally panted out, "I - ran - all the way here."

"Goodness," Lily said sarcastically. "Just can't stay away from me, can you?"

Hugo sat up and planted his hands on the table. "Close that book and look at me. Lily. I think I've just landed on something huge. I think..." Lowering his voice as he looked around, "I think Daphne Greengrass is mixed up with this business in the Forest."

"And what makes you think that?" his cousin said flatly.

"Because she was there that night!" Hugo declared. "Of _course_ she was. That's why I saw the Guardian there. It all makes sense now."

"But I thought the Guardian was there because of the portal that Uncle George told Albus about," Lily argued. She pushed her hair off her forehead, sighing. "Merlin, this is confusing."

"I know. I know." Hugo cast his eyes around the library. "But think about it, Lily. Greengrass and Nott have broken magical laws, right? I mean, what they did to... to James..."

"Don't say it," Lily murmured.

"But I have to. Lily, they stole his magic. That's got to be a crime of - nature, or whatever." Hugo's eyes widened as something dawned on him. "Maybe Nott is mixed up in this too! Maybe he's - "

"Hugo." Lily laid a hand on his arm. "Just slow down, OK? Let's just take this one step at a time. First: what makes you think that Daphne Greengrass was there the night you saw the Guardian in the Forbidden Forest?"

"I was talking to Daisy Abbott," Hugo said reluctantly. As Lily rolled her eyes, "Yes, yes, I know you said not to, but as it turns out she knows about the Guardian. She says - get this - that _Greengrass_ told her about him." His cousin was silent. "Well, how else would Greengrass know about him? She must have been there!"

"I don't - " Lily began feebly, then stopped. She resumed, after a moment, "There are protective spells around Hogwarts. Even assuming Greengrass is powerful, she couldn't have breached them. That's why she took Daisy in Hogsmeade, right?"

"Maybe I'm wrong, then." Hugo shrugged his shoulders. "I could be! I'm not really good at this kind of stuff. But maybe - _maybe_ \- Daphne Greengrass is trying to get at the Resurrection Stone, too. And you know what that means." He leaned towards Lily, a savage gleam entering his eye. "It means that we've _got_ the bitch - "

" _Ahem_."

Slowly, Hugo turned around in his seat to see the librarian looming over him. A few paces behind was one of the Elite Aurors, with a blank expression on her face.

"You might be unaware, Mr Weasley," Mr Shirley said, very distinctly, "But there are actually other people in this library who are _not_ here to have a conversation with one another." With a beleaguered sigh, "And while I'm sure what you have to discuss is of the utmost importance, there are about a hundred other places in this castle where you could do it."

Hugo looked at the librarian. Then he looked at the Elite Auror. Finally he heaved a breath and started up from his chair.

"You too, Miss Potter," Mr Shirley said. "I wouldn't want to interrupt your engrossing conversation, after all."

"Honestly," Hugo muttered after they got out of the library. "World's going mad." After a moment of walking in silence, he turned to Lily. "What's your test on anyway, tomorrow?"

"Arithmancy," Lily replied, and Hugo winced.

"Ouch. Sorry. I guess I should have waited until you were finished studying before coming to you with all my theories."

"It's all right," said Lily Potter, in the tone of one who had resigned herself to her fate. "I'll just make sure I sit beside a Ravenclaw."

* * *

"I'm going on break!" Rose Weasley announced as she advanced up the Hazel Fletcher ward. "If anyone needs anything, Healer Rookwood will be here to attend to you, and Madam Hudson is right around the corner."

"Really," Lucius Malfoy drawled as she passed his bed, "A break suggests that you have been working. But I don't recall seeing you exert yourself to any task, beyond straightening sheets and filling glasses of water."

"You're looking better this morning, Mr Malfoy," Rose said brightly, coming up and straightening his bedclothes as though to prove his point.

"I can't say the same for you. Those green robes look ghastly with your hair." Lucius Malfoy looked as though he were sniffing dung as she paused next to him. "Why don't you go back to selling knick-knacks and magic tricks like the rest of your little clan? I'm sure it would come more naturally to you than this."

"Why don't _you_ go back to donating generous sums of money to worthy causes like St Mungo's?" Rose retorted, then, with a smile, "Oh, that's right. You don't have any money to donate anymore."

Lucius Malfoy's eyes narrowed, and he was silent. Rose straightened and moved away from his bed. "I'll take your bloods when I'm back, Mr Malfoy," she said in departing.

"I'm not letting a Weasley near me with a needle," he called after her. "Over my dead body!"

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that!"

She paused at the door of the ward to find one of the matrons standing there, a scandalised expression on her face. "You can't talk to the patients like that," she said in a low voice.

"Oh, but this one is a special case," said Rose, smiling. "You'll see."

On the fifth floor of St Mungo's hospital, the tearoom was still quiet, its only occupants a couple of lonely old men with newspapers and a woman with her head in her hands. Rose sat at a table for two, quickly ordered tea and a scone, and reached into her bag for the book she had asked her dad to drop over to her last night. She opened it where the corner of the page had been turned down, and continued reading where she had left off.

She was tired; so tired that every now and then, the print wiggled around on the page in front of her. Yet the last thing on her mind was sleep: she felt exhilarated, alive, full of feverish energy. Throughout the night shift, there had been ample opportunity to reflect on Lucius Malfoy's condition, and something that had been lurking at the back of her mind for a long time soon brought itself forward once more.

Her wandless magic had healed Scorpius, long ago, when all hope had seemed lost. She had reached deep within herself and found a well of emotions, so potent and powerful that they had leaked from her and washed him in their power. Could she do it again? Could she convince someone like Queen Anne to let her try something on Lucius Malfoy? Then - Rose's thoughts were coming more rapidly now - then she would be a different kind of Healer than they had ever seen before. Perhaps such an endeavour, if successful, could change the very nature of Healing itself: save more lives than they had ever thought possible...

"Sorry I'm late."

Rose looked up from her book as she saw her cousin Albus take the seat across from her. He looked as exhausted as she felt, the collar of his jacket turned up. "Is it cold out?"

"Miserable," he replied, and smiled gratefully at the serving witch as she came to top up the tea. "How was your night shift?"

"Fine," Rose said elusively. It was too early yet, she had decided, to share her plan with anyone else. She had to do some more reading first. "Are you working today?"

"At nine." Albus glanced at the clock in the corner of the room, whose small hand was at the quarter past mark, and leaned across the table towards Rose. "So I'd better be quick. I have a lot to tell you."

"And this can't wait till we're both back in the house?"

"No." Albus lowered his voice. "I told you about the Resurrection Stone, and Uncle George."

Rose nodded her head, biting her lip. Was this why he looked so exhausted? Was he kept up at night because he could not talk to James anymore?

"Well, I've been wondering," her cousin went on, "how the Stone ended up where it did. George said he and my father threw it in the lake. But someone must have found it again, and somehow it ended up in Carlotta Pinkstone's vault twenty-odd years later."

"And after that, Moribund got hold of it," Rose broke in, pointedly. She still found it difficult to believe that the very night she and Albus's search for the Stone had proved fruitless, he had gone back and seen that strange witch again.

"Well, that's natural enough," Albus said, with a wave of the hand. "She was Carlotta's friend."

"But Carlotta thought she was dead," Rose pointed out. "So she can't have given the Stone to her."

"Maybe Moribund stole it. Maybe someone stole it for her. We still don't know who she was working with. Anyway, what I'm more concerned about is how Carlotta Pinkstone had that Stone in her vault in the first place." Now Albus hesitated, as though he were about to say something unpleasant. "I think Scorpius might be able to help us understand that."

"He knows nothing about it," Rose said at once. "His father never even told him why the Truthseekers made him break into that vault."

"All the same, we could use his input."

Rose leaned back in her chair, and attempted to sound casual as she said, "Well, I told you his grandfather's being treated here at the moment. He should be easy enough to get a hold of."

"But would you be all right with it?" Albus's eyes searched her face. "Getting in touch with him, us all meeting again?" With the ghost of a smile, "Just like old times?"

Rose hesitated for only the barest of seconds. Then, defiantly, "I'm all right if _he's_ all right."

"Great." Albus drained the last of his tea, got to his feet and squeezed her shoulder. "I'd better get to work. I'll see you back at the house, and we'll arrange a time that suits."

Left alone once more, Rose Weasley suddenly felt the weariness she had held at bay all night overwhelm her. She lurched forward in her seat and let her head drop onto the table, repeatedly. "Are you all right?" the serving witch asked, after she had spent a minute or so in this fashion.

"No," Rose said thickly, her voice muffled by her sleeve. "I am definitely _not_ all right."

 _But I will be_ , she vowed to herself as Scorpius Malfoy's face floated in her mind. _I have to be_.

* * *

Daisy Abbott peered around the edge of the door leading into the music room and recoiled when she saw the crowd assembled there. This had been a mistake. She would go back to her dormitory and do some study. She would just -

"Daisy!" Lu Scamander had appeared in the doorway, wearing her artless, toothy smile. "Come on in, we're just getting started!"

So Daisy allowed herself to be pulled in, felt something tense within her as at least a dozen pairs of eyes turned her way, and blindly followed Lu to a seat.

"Miss Abbott." She looked up as she sat and saw the conductor of the choir, Mr Shirley, standing behind the piano. He smiled at her. "Thank you for joining us. Does anyone have any spare music for our new arrival?"

"I do!" came an eager voice behind Daisy. Turning, she saw Alice Longbottom in the row behind her, fumbling in her folder. She drew out a few pages and held them out to Daisy, also smiling. _This is bizarre_ , thought Daisy, as she took them and thanked her cousin.

But once the music had started, the tension in her chest began to ease. They practised a string of Christmas carols, most of which Daisy knew already, and soon she was harmonising along with Lu, and even enjoying herself. Alice's high, clear voice rang out behind her. It was a little screechy at times, but then, not many people could manage that top note in _O Holy Night_. Daisy was generous enough to allow that.

The half hour flew by more quickly than she could have imagined. She could hardly believe it when the bell rang to signal the end of lunchtime. There was a general clambering as people moved around music stands, put away their folders and picked up their bags. Daisy smiled at Lu, who squeezed her arm before she was pulled away by the other Ravenclaw girls.

"Miss Abbott? A word?"

The room was nearly empty now, but Mr Shirley lingered, regarding her with interest. As Daisy approached him, she met Alice's eye, briefly, before the latter slipped out of the music room, the last to depart.

"I have heard," the music conductor said measuredly, "that you're very gifted with the piano. Tell me, can you sight read?"

"It - er - depends on the piece," Daisy said nervously, "but normally, yes. It helps if I'm familiar with the chords beforehand."

Mr Shirley looked pleased. "Well," he said, gesturing to the shelves behind the piano, "Why don't you have a look and see if there's something there you like? I must check on the library." He was nearly at the door when he turned back and added, "If you're up for the task, I'd like to have you play at the concert this Friday."

Daisy could hardly believe her ears. Quickly, she nodded.

"Good. I'll be back in a quarter of an hour to hear you play. With everything going on in the school this week..." He paused, "I don't think I need to tell you how important it is that this concert goes well. We want to make a good impression on our _new friends_ , after all." With a smile that bordered on sardonic, he passed out of the room.

Daisy stared at the door for a moment, and then she started to laugh in disbelief. _Her_! He wanted _her_ to play! Something was bubbling up within her: a light, giddy feeling. She caught sight of herself in a mirror and could hardly recognise her reflection: she looked flushed and happy, her eyes shining.

Pulling up the piano stool, she stood on it and began to rummage through the music on the nearest shelf, flicking past various titles. Soon she had reached the end of the shelf marked _Shirley_ , and no piece of music had called out to her. She got down from the stool, moved the piano stool, and started again. This shelf was marked _Flitwick_ , which, she guessed, was the name of the previous conductor of the choir. Clouds of dust rose up as she moved further and further back. Then, as she was tugging at a book with a blue cover, a loose sheet fell out and drifted down to the floor.

Intrigued, Daisy jumped down off the piano stool, knelt and picked it up. Her eyes scanned the notes. It was a piece she knew very well from Muggle school: it was the famous _Ave Maria_ arrangement for piano, set to Bach's Prelude in C with a counter-melody composed by Gounod. But the familiarity of the piece was not what knocked the breath out of her lungs: it was the name, neatly inked at the top right hand corner of the page: _Theodore Nott._

The staves had been drawn, and the notes filled in with the same impeccable hand. The words were even written beneath in Latin. Daisy read: _Ave maria, gratia plena_...

The carpet was starting to scratch her knees, even through the heavy stockings she wore under her uniform. Daisy smoothed down her robes and rose, sitting on the piano stool as she continued to scan the music. Goosebumps tingled on her arms, the hair on the back of her neck prickled -

"Daisy?"

Her head flew back - it could not be Mr Shirley, back already? No; it was her cousin Alice, tentatively pushing open the door to the music room. She lingered in the threshold, as though she was uncertain. "Are you OK?"

"Fine, fine." Daisy folded up the page and putting her hands behind her back. "Just - nervous, I suppose."

"Did he ask you to play, on Friday?"

"Yes," Daisy said warily.

"I'm glad." Alice sighed as Daisy's eyes flashed up to hers, surprised and disbelieving. "Really, I am. Look, Daisy, there's something I want to say to you. If you're - not too busy - could I come in for a minute?"

Daisy pursed her lips as she considered. "Fine," she said at last.

Alice Longbottom stepped in, softly closing the door behind her. She sat in one of the chairs closest to the piano, and shook back her black curls. Finally she looked up, and met Daisy's gaze. "I know what you did, at the concert in Hogsmeade."

"I didn't - " Daisy began, but Alice held up a hand.

"It's OK. I kind of figured it had to be you, since Mr Shirley was sick." She held Daisy's eye. "If you hadn't played for me... I would have - well - messed it all up. And in front of Hugo and everyone." With a nervous laugh, "You know I could _never_ have lived that down."

Daisy looked down at her lap, her mind reeling. Was she dreaming?

"You've always been there for me, Daisy," Alice went on. "Thank you."

There was a long silence. Finally, Daisy heard her cousin rise in a rustle of robes. "Well, I won't keep you from your practice."

"Alice," Daisy said, as her cousin reached the door. She swallowed. "You don't need to thank me. We're family, after all. We look out for each other."

Alice Longbottom turned. "That's true." They smiled at each other uncertainly. "I'll be cheering you on at the concert."

"You too," Daisy said, and as the door swung closed behind her, she felt a stab of guilt. If Alice knew that she and Tobias had intended to sabotage her performance at that concert, she would not be so grateful.

Why was it that every good thing that came to her these days seemed tainted, somehow? Daisy puzzled over it, and then, setting the crumpled sheet of music before her with an air of decision, her eyes found that name again. _Theodore Nott_. _He_ was why everything was spoiled.

Yet, as her hands settled on the keys and began to play the broken chords of Bach that he had so painstakingly written out, the intervening years fell away, and she saw in her mind's eye a young boy with glasses sitting where she sat now. He was skinny and awkward, and bent his head over the piano as he played, swaying with the music.

* * *

It was evening, and as the skies darkened outside the windows of St Mungo's Hospital, Rose Weasley became increasingly glad that she was not on the night shift tonight. It had taken her all of a day's sleep to recover from the last one, and from what she could sense, Lucius Malfoy was not planning on cooperating with whoever was saddled with his care tonight.

The Hazel Fletcher ward was emptier now than it had been a few days ago, but that made little difference, for Malfoy alone was worth three patients. Even now, from across the ward, she could hear him calling her.

"Nurse Weasley! Nurse Weasley!"

Rose withdrew her syringe, carefully propped the sleeping patient back on his pillows and then advanced up the ward at a leisurely pace. Lucius Malfoy was wearing a wicked smile when she reached him. "Firstly, Mr Malfoy," she said measuredly, "I am not a nurse; I am training to be a Healer. And secondly, even if I were a nurse, you would address me as Madam and treat me with the respect a matron deserves. Now..." Rolling up her sleeves, "What can I do for you?"

"It's too hot," Lucius Malfoy said, after a moment's consideration.

"Too hot," Rose repeated flatly, and glanced towards the windows. It had been snowing this morning: not that the stuff ever stuck to the ground long here in London, but she had felt the sharp bite in the air when she had stepped out for her break. That break had not been long enough, she thought wistfully; all day, she had been running to and fro, at the beck and call of just about everybody in the hospital: Healer Rookwood, Queen Anne, and Lucius Malfoy most of all. He seemed to delight in inventing pointless tasks for her to do. Perhaps it amused him in his boredom. After all, he had not been expecting to stay in the hospital for so long, and seemed to have decided that Rose should suffer for that, too.

 _Careful_ , she thought darkly, _or I mightn't decide to Heal you after all._

She advanced to the window and cranked it open. A gust of freezing air poured in, sending the curtains flapping and the fittings rattling. "Better?"

Lucius Malfoy shook his head. "Now it's too cold! Merlin's sake, Weasley, can't you get it right?"

Rose pursed her lips, and bit back a retort as she closed the window. Her nerves were wearing thin, but it would not do for one of the Healers to see her sassing him again. With a sigh, she produced her wand and muttered an incantation. Soon a stream of cool air was coursing through the ward. "Better?" she said again.

Lucius Malfoy made a _hmmmph_ sound which she took to mean as a yes. Rose glanced at her watch. She should have been finished an hour ago. The weariness pressed on her lids; rather unwisely, she had stayed up late last night reading the book on wandless magic. But it had been worth it; now she had a clearer idea of how she would proceed with her Healing. The question was, however, how she was going to get permission to carry it out. She had no qualifications yet; she had not even sat her exams.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Lucius snapped, and Rose started, realising that she had been gazing at him as she thought. "You look like you've got something up your sleeve."

"We Weasleys always have something up our sleeve."

"Don't I know it."

"You're one to talk." Rose raised her eyebrows. "You Malfoys haven't exactly earned the reputation of upright citizens."

Lucius Malfoy sighed heavily, casting his eyes to the ceiling. "You can't imagine how relieved I am that you won't be marrying into my family after all."

This silenced Rose, if only for a moment. Spluttering, "What are you - what do you - "

"It's a joke, Weasley. You should know a joke when you see one; after all, your family sells them for a living."

"Not my family," she snapped back. "My uncle. In case you've forgotten, my mother is Minister for Magic."

"I haven't forgotten," Lucius Malfoy said wearily. He stretched back, resting his head on his pillows. "Merlin, when I think of what the world has come to..."

Rose Weasley raised a warning finger, and angry words were bubbling in her throat when the door of the ward opened and a squat witch in her thirties came trotting in. She recognised her as one of the trainees whom Queen Anne had made cry; though, of course, she now had to count herself among that number, too.

"Sorry, sorry," the trainee Healer said as she took the keys Rose handed her. "I know I'm late; the traffic's awful tonight."

"Is it?" Rose frowned. "Maybe I'd leave my car here and take the tube."

"Do," the trainee urged. "Where are you headed, anyway?"

"Shoreditch. Meeting a few friends."

"Ooh, enjoy!"

"I'm off. Watch out for that one." Rose Weasley pointed at Lucius Malfoy.

"Another nurse," she heard him groan as she departed.

"Actually, I'm training to be a Healer," she heard the trainee start to say in a bright voice, as the door swung closed, and could not help a pained smile.

The Underground was as crowded as she had expected, and it only got worse the closer she drew to Shoreditch, with groups of rowdy teenagers getting on and joining in that grand competition of who could irk their fellow passengers the most. Earphones in, Rose sat with her Healer robes folded in her bag, and turned her music up whenever anyone attempted to talk to her.

Albus and Scorpius already had two empty pint glasses in front of them when she arrived into the beer garden of the Three Castles pub. The place was half-full, the low rumble of conversation providing a welcome contrast to the chaos of the tube. Rose was grateful for the dim light, too, as she slipped onto the heated form across from the two wizards. "Sorry I'm late. I was detained by a certain - ahem - patient."

"I apologise on behalf of my grandfather," Scorpius said dryly, and then, in an entirely different tone, "What are you drinking?"

"Oh," Rose said, strangely flustered by this, "She's - er - bringing me out a gin and tonic. Ah - here she is." She smiled at the barwoman, who took Albus and Scorpius's empty glasses.

"Two more of the same, please," Albus told her, and then, as she disappeared into the pub, he took out a packet of cigarettes. The other two shook their heads as he offered them one.

"I didn't know you smoked," Rose said, accusingly.

"Nicked these off Hugo, actually."

"Hugo?" She was appalled. "He doesn't smoke!"

Albus raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Of course he doesn't." As he took his first drag, "You know, he owled me last night with a new theory."

"Oh dear Merlin," Rose said, and, at her cousin's confused look, elaborated. "Hugo tends to let his imagination run away with him."

"Like someone I know," remarked Scorpius, and Rose looked down at the table. There was something in his tone that made her uncomfortable.

"Well, this, I have to say, was quite intriguing. Hugo thinks that Daphne Greengrass - and possibly Nott - are after the Resurrection Stone."

There was a silence, during which Rose and Scorpius exchanged thoughtful glances. He spoke first. "I don't see Aunt Daphne having an interest in the Stone. Not unless she was going along with Nott's plan."

"Well, he's far away," Albus said, a little impatiently. "And she's here. So, looking at the facts... thank you." He leaned back as the barwoman set two pints of lager before them. "Er... cheers."

"Cheers," said Scorpius, and his eyes found Rose's. There was something dark in them: something she might almost have called loathing.

"Cheers," she said stiffly.

"Looking at the facts," Albus went on, when they had put down their glasses again, "Daphne is here, and she's here for something. She is the one who took the risk in travelling over the border, so clearly, whatever they're after, she's more invested in it."

"Not necessarily," Scorpius said. "Nott knows he can't come within an inch of the Channel: his magical signature is written all over every censor in the border patrol. Maybe he sent Aunt Daphne as his lackey."

"I agree," Rose said carefully, and they both looked at her. "At least insofar as Nott being able to orchestrate things from a distance. But..." She pierced the wedge of lime with her straw, and fished it out of her glass. "But I don't see Nott being interested in the Resurrection Stone."

Now it was Albus and Scorpius's turn to exchange glances. "Why not?" her cousin asked first. "He's a scientist, an Alchemist. What's more fascinating to someone like him than the possibility of toying with life and death?"

"Plenty of things," Rose said at once. As her cousin frowned, "Besides, you said so yourself, what the Stone produces is just an imitation of life. It's not the real thing."

"But that doesn't necessarily disprove Hugo's theory," Albus said slowly. "By saying they could be mixed up in all of this, he might have a point. Isn't it possible that they were involved somehow in the portal being opened in the Forest? Nott did a lot of things we don't know about when he was Potions Master, after all. He might be responsible for the mess that's there now, for all we know: the shadow creatures and the Guardian..."

" _I'm_ interested to hear," Scorpius broke in, his eyes on Rose's face, "what other things you think Nott might be more interested in than the Resurrection Stone."

Rose gave him a bland smile. "Remember our Alchemy classes back in sixth year? No, of course you don't. I'm sure you've got more important things to think about now. Well, _I_ remember, and there was one thing Nott never shut up about."

Annoyance and curiosity were mingled in Scorpius's expression; Albus, meanwhile, was looking at her expectantly. "What? Go on, Rose, stop trying to be mysterious and tell us."

Rose drew breath, and then said, "Panacea."

They looked at her blankly. "Oh, come on! You're both scholars. You know what panacea is."

"It rings a bell," Albus said vaguely, scratching his head.

"Does it have something to do with the Holy Grail?" was Scorpius's feeble contribution.

"Close." Rose took one last sip of her drink, and put the glass down again. It had gone down rather more quickly than she had been expecting. "Panacea is a substance Alchemists have sought for centuries. The cure-all remedy that would heal all diseases and prolong life. Like the Holy Grail, it is said to grant eternal life, though the myths surrounding it do vary from source to source."

"Yes, yes, it's coming back to me now," Albus said quickly.

"But surely," Scorpius said slowly, "surely that's what the Philosopher's Stone does. Grant eternal life."

"The Philosopher's Stone was destroyed, years ago," Rose pointed out. "And I don't see Nott as the type who'd want to live forever, anyway. I think..." She paused, frowning. "I think he'd be more interested in the healing aspect of panacea."

"Aren't _you_?" This was Albus. "You're a Healer, after all, or close to becoming one."

But Rose shook her head.

"She doesn't need one," Scorpius said. There was an edge to his voice which made Rose look up. "She has her own wonderful powers."

"Excuse me?" Rose repeated, and then gave a start as the barwoman reached around her for her empty glass. "Another, please."

"I think we're getting beside the point," Albus said hastily. "Hugo's theory aside, we need to find out how the Stone ended up where it did. Who was after it? Carlotta Pinkstone had other concerns, but it was in her vault, and she had Scorpius's dad steal it for her. Anthea Moribund was willing enough to hand it over to me, but then..." He trailed off, his eyes going distant. "She did say there would be a price."

"Some sick joke." Rose was suddenly angry. "She wanted _you_ to pay the price; she wanted it to drive you mad..."

"But it didn't." Albus put a hand over hers; she didn't realise that she had raised her voice until she saw a few of their neighbours looking over at them. "I'm fine, Rose."

"There's a possibility Nott found the Stone in the lake," Scorpius said, "and somehow gave it to Carlotta Pinkstone. But I think that's unlikely. If he were to have taken the Stone, I don't see him giving it up to anyone else. Nott worked for himself."

"Which leaves..." Rose twirled her straw in emptiness.

"Zabini," said Albus.

Scorpius sighed, hunching his shoulders. "My family isn't coming out of this well at all, are they?"

Neither of the other two replied to this. Rose was grateful to get her new drink: the sweet liquid went down even easier this time around. At last, Scorpius resumed, "I don't think Pinkstone was interested in the Resurrection Stone, but what it was encased in when my father stole it." Now he was the one looking down. "The Remembrall."

"Of course," Rose exclaimed, a little too loudly.

"So then what about Zabini?" Albus persisted. "Why would he have been interested?"

"Its value," said Scorpius, with a shrug. "He liked shiny things. Maybe..." He frowned as though a new thought were occurring to him. "Maybe it was some kind of initiation into the Truthseekers? Proof of his worth, or something?"

"The way they initiated your father into Gringotts?" Rose suggested, and his eyes slid to her.

"Precisely." There was a pause, then Scorpius went on, almost lazily, "I suppose I could go talk to him in Azkaban, see what he knows. Or no, I have a better idea: why don't we all go back to my old house - " Nodding at Rose, "- _our_ old house, and go poking through his study and see what we can find? Oh _wait_. You already did that."

"I knew it," Rose said, setting down her drink so hard that the liquid slopped over the sides. "I knew you were going to bring that up."

"See, I _do_ remember the important things."

"That's only important because you made it so. You were the one who made it into this huge thing: you made it seem like I was against you, against your family - "

"Oh, so you're not? Because you gave every impression of it."

"I was trying to find out the truth - and if I may add, you were keeping plenty of your own secrets too - "

"Not the same, Rose. Not the same."

"Oh, don't act like you have the moral high ground here, you - "

"Right, then." Albus Potter set down his pint of lager, which he had barely touched, and stood up, pushing back the form on which he and Scorpius had been sitting with a scrape. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and drew out a handful of five-pound notes, which he threw down on the table. "On me." His green eyes found Scorpius first, then Rose, and she saw that he was furious. "Call me again when you've grown up."

He swung out of the beer garden. Scorpius was not long in following, and Rose, left alone, drained the rest of her gin and tonic, swung her legs over the form, and walked to the edge of the beer garden. Beyond the awning she could see high brick walls stretching to rooftops on either side. Snow drifted down between the gap, dark and cold.

* * *

"No," said Professor Firenze flatly.

"No?" Hugo repeated, with a glance at Lily. With the help of the Marauder's Map which Albus had left in his care (and which, this time, Hugo had accepted), the two had tracked the Divination professor the day after their conversation in the library. It was nearly curfew, and Aurors swept the grounds, but their conference by the Thestrals' field had been thus far uninterrupted.

"No," Firenze said again, gazing towards the Forbidden Forest, whose dark trees appeared to march closer as night fell. "Daphne Greengrass is not important."

"Not important?" Hugo exclaimed. "She kidnapped Daisy Abbott last week! All of wizarding Britain is waiting for the Auror Office to hunt her down, and you say she's not important?"

"You asked me for my opinion, Mr Weasley," said the centaur. "And I have given it."

"Hugo doesn't mean to be rude, professor," Lily said hastily, nudging her cousin. "What we're wondering is... whether what's going on in the Forest has to do with Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott."

For the first time, Firenze turned from the trees to look at them. His eyes were full of compassion as he regarded Lily. "They have caused much sorrow. But the shadow over the Forest is not of their making."

"How do you know?" Hugo demanded. "Because you've seen it in your visions?"

"No, Mr Weasley. Because it is of _my_ making."

There was a shocked silence. Behind them, one of the Thestrals shifted on the sparse grass, its skeletal frame flashing in the corner of Hugo's eye.

"Your uncle did not tell you the full truth," Firenze said quietly. "He had help not just in sealing the portal he created, but in making it. He could not have done it without me."

Hugo was staggered. "You helped Uncle George use bloodmagic to open the portal? Why would you do that?"

Firenze was quiet for what felt like a long time. "I was arrogant. I wanted to see if it could be done. They called to me in my sleep. Their voices so despairing. They called from the smoke, hands reaching towards me from their pit of darkness."

Something cold was crawling down Hugo's spine. He saw those shadows again, darting across the clearing, their greedy jaws opening to swallow Daisy whole...

"I wanted to help. And George Weasley... the sadness was making him ill in his mind, in his body. He had lost his twin, his shadow. He was dying."

Lily Potter drew a shuddering breath, and Hugo put a protective arm around her shoulders as he watched Firenze. "So you knew, all this time, what was wrong in the Forest?"

"No." Firenze bowed his head. "I truly thought that the portal had been sealed. When I heard, some months ago, of the shadow men, chasing my kind out of their territory... I wanted to believe that they were something else: a creation of some Dark wizard. But they were my own folly. And now my people have suffered for it."

"But they're not your people anymore," Hugo said, and then a moment later, regretted his words. "I mean... isn't that what you said?"

"What we say, Mr Weasley, and what we feel can be two very different things." Firenze lifted his head again, as though starting out of another trance. "You speak of something wrong in the Forest, Mr Weasley. There _is_ something wrong, still, and I felt it the night you ventured out there against my advice; I saw it in the smoke. An impostor."

"There," Hugo said triumphantly. He let go of Lily's shoulders. "Daphne Greengrass was there, that night. I _knew_ it."

"I have told you, Mr Weasley - " Firenze began wearily, but then Lily broke in,

"What about the Resurrection Stone?" Her eager eyes were fixed on the centaur. "What do we do with it?"

"There is only one thing that can be done with it now, Miss Potter," Firenze said gently. "It must be destroyed."

A chill wind bent the bare, stunted trees around them. Hugo heard Lily's sigh as though it were part of it. "Why?" she asked, very quietly.

"The Stone was used in the ritual to open the portal. To close it once and for all, it must be destroyed."

"But the Deathly Hallows can't be destroyed, can they?" Hugo said quickly, with a glance at his cousin's pale face.

"They can, by their master."

They barely had time to process this when Firenze tensed, his blue eyes drifting past them. "Trouble is coming," he murmured. Hugo and Lily turned as one to see a trio of Elite Aurors descending the lawns from the castle. Before them strode William Corley, his blond toupée fluttering in the wind.

The former Advisor bowed, once, to Hugo, ignored Lily completely and addressed Firenze very politely. "Apologies for the interruption, my good man, but we are going to have to ask you some questions."

Firenze frowned at Corley as he might at a buzzing fly. The Advisor blinked at him, and then cleared his throat. "Er... Chief Auror Weiss has made a report. Weiss, will you come forward, please."

The Auror obliged; Hugo recognised him as the one with gold epaulettes, whom he had noticed on Monday. "Professor Firenze, we are arresting you for possession of illicit substances, which were found in your office."

"Illicit substances?" Hugo repeated in disbelief. "What in Merlin's name..."

"Possession of these substances, among them oppopanax and mallowsweet, is punishable by law for reason of their hallucinatory properties according to the Federal Bureau of Dangerous Magical Narcotics."

"That's in MACUSA!" Lily exclaimed, and as the handsome Auror's eyes turned to her, she did not waver. "In case you didn't realise, you're in England now, answerable only to the Ministry of Magic and her Majesty the Queen!"

Hugo could have cheered his cousin's patriotism. But William Corley just gave a tolerant smile. "Stirring, to see such loyalty to queen and country. However, I regret to inform you that these substances have also been outlawed by the Department of Intoxicating Substances in our very own Ministry."

"I will go with you," interrupted Firenze. He appeared bored by the discussion, and as the Aurors and Corley began to lead him up the lawn, looked back once to smile at Hugo and Lily. They were not in the least comforted.

"Oh, I could wring their necks," Lily said through gritted teeth. "I just want to hex that smug look of their faces. What gives them the right to come over here, ordering us around?"

Hugo would have smiled, had the circumstances been different. "That's what I've been saying, coz."

* * *

A fresh coating of snow lay on the turrets and lawns of Hogwarts when students woke up on Friday morning. Some rose earlier than others, leaving the Entrance Hall when it was still dark outside. Hugo Weasley and the various members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were among them, and no matter how many laps they ran around the pitch, they could not get the deep cold out of their bones.

Visibility was hampered by the light snowfall, even as the sun rose, so the training session wound down early, as Hugo ran out of ideas of what they could do next. After the others had packed up and headed back to the castle for breakfast, he and Lily sat in the stands staring out at the winter landscape, and taking turns drinking out of the hot flask she had brought with her.

"I definitely taste Firewhiskey," Hugo said with a laugh, smacking his lips as he handed the flask back to his cousin.

Lily looked scandalised. "Do you really think I would offer you an alcoholic beverage before school hours?" She took a swig. "OK, so maybe I put a tiny bit in." As Hugo raised his eyebrows, "They do it all the time in the Arctic countries! It's their only way of staying alive."

"Well, coz, I'm afraid we're not living in an Arctic country."

"Could have fooled me." Lily passed him back the flask and rubbed her hands together.

"I'd like to know where you keep this stash of Firewhiskey," Hugo teased.

She rolled her eyes at him. "God, I'm not an alco, Weasley. I got it from the kitchens. They use it for cooking." An icy gust of wind swept around them, and they both exclaimed out loud. "Bloody _Merlin_ , it's cold! Remind me why we're here again?"

"Because we have to talk about what Firenze said," Hugo said, a new solemnity entering his voice. "What do you think he meant, the Deathly Hallows can only be destroyed by their master?"

"The master of the Deathly Hallows is whoever possesses all three," Lily mused. "That's Dad, I suppose."

"I don't know," Hugo said after a moment. "Is it?"

Lily turned to him. He elaborated, "Albus has the Stone now - or at least, he did, until he gave it to Uncle George. He has the Cloak. But the Wand..."

"... is still in Dumbledore's tomb," Lily finished.

Hugo frowned deeply. "Then if Albus can get the Wand - "

"It should be him." His cousin's voice was a little harsh. "He got us into this mess."

Hugo glanced at her. She was glaring at the drifting snow. Finally she said, "Anyway, who says we can even trust what Firenze says? He lied to you before, didn't he?"

"He didn't lie," Hugo said mildly. "He made a mistake."

"Fine, if that's what you want to believe. But I don't think the Stone can be destroyed. And if it could, I don't think we should be the ones to do it."

"All the same, we should tell Albus."

"Rather you than me."

Neither of them spoke for a while after that. Gradually the snow ceased, and the sun emerged from behind heavy clouds, its weak rays grasping at the world. Voices drifted up to them on the air, and they saw a flash of yellow and black down on the pitch. Hugo handed Lily back the flask, and rose from his seat, with an air of decision. "See you back in the castle."

"But..."

Raising a hand, he jogged down the steps, winding his way back to the ground. As he stepped out from under the cover of the stands, he saw the Hufflepuffs passing at a little distance. Some of them were in their gear already, including the captain Ryan Pratt, who was walking backwards ahead of the others and chafing his hands together.

"My gloves! Where are my bloody gloves?" he was exclaiming when he saw Hugo, and broke off, eyes narrowing.

"Weasley. What do _you_ want?"

"The broomshed and the changing rooms are locked," Hugo informed him. "New security regulations."

"Well, that's just typical, innit?"

"Here are the keys. Give them back to Madam Bulstrode when you're finished with them, can you?" He dropped them into Ryan Pratt's outstretched hand and was turning to leave when something occurred to him. "Oh, and there's a spare pair of gloves in one of the lockers. Number 5, I think. You can borrow them if you want."

The suspicious look on Ryan Pratt's face would have irked him once upon a time. But now, he understood it perfectly, and as he walked back to the castle alone, he could not help thinking of Tobias Greengrass's parting words to him.

 _It's a bit late for that, Weasley_.

* * *

Sleep had eluded Rose Weasley once again, and once again, she had spent the small hours of the night researching. Another book she had bought from Flourish and Blotts was added to her collection, and by the time the sun rose, her eyes were scratchy with lack of sleep. Going to the window of her room in Grimmauld Place, she saw a sludgy mixture of snow and dirt covering the houses and street outside. Through this she tramped on her way to work, her mind still racing with all the possibilities of what she could do.

The Underground was quiet at this time, and she kept reading as she took a seat beside a mother and her small child. But she could not help looking up every time the double doors slid open, and the automated woman's voice announced the destination: she could not help scanning the face of every Muggle that got on, as though she expected to see someone she knew.

A slight throbbing at the back of her head reminded her of the two gin and tonics from last night, and Rose chided herself again for drinking them so quickly. She always did that when she was nervous. And how could she have helped being nervous, when Scorpius had been watching her all the time with that expression on his face? He had been _so_ unpleasant, _so_ awkward - and then, abruptly, Rose saw again the look of disgust on Albus's face as he had departed.

His light had been off when she had come home last night. And he had not answered the knock on his door; Rose squeezed her eyes shut, and shook her head. It was her fault. She shouldn't have said she was ready to meet Scorpius. But then, to lose face... that would have been worse, wouldn't it?

She opened her eyes to see the little girl beside her staring at her curiously from her mother's lap. Giving herself a shake, Rose took up her book once again. She would try not to think about last night. She had more important things to think about, after all: like what on earth she was going to say to the Head Matron.

The possibility of going to one of the Healers first with her idea was one she had considered, of course, but everyone in Mungo's knew that Queen Anne was the one with the real power. Beside that, there was something in Rose that wanted to prove her wrong. She wanted to see the look of surprise in that woman's steely eyes when she realised that Rose Lavender Weasley was _not_ someone she could just write off.

Rose was feeling very determined as she stepped through the lobby of the hospital, and even the glimpse she caught of Scorpius talking to the witch at the desk did not put her off her stride. She changed quickly in one of the staff rooms behind the lobby, tying back her hair and washing her hands. Then she walked into the lift, and watched as the doors closed. The conveyance jerked and began to rise. She nodded to the Healers waiting at the other end, and stepped on through to Mortal Maladies.

After poking her head into the Hazel Fletcher ward and noting with some surprise the freshly made-up bed there, she went straight to the office door across the corridor, glimpsed through its window the Head Matron with her head bent over some paperwork, and knocked.

"Come in."

Rose Weasley stepped inside, hiding her sweating hands behind her back, and said, in as smooth a voice as she could manage, "Can I - talk to you for a moment, Madam Price?"

With a large hand, the Head Matron put down her quill and looked at her expectantly.

Marvelling at her own courage, Rose took a step forward. "I - er - see that Lucius Malfoy has been discharged. I want you to call him back, Madam Price. You see, there's something I want to try. I know I'm just a trainee, but I've been researching wandless magic and there are methods of - of - Healing... ancient methods, which our ancestors abandoned: to their detriment, I think. I've tried one of these methods before, and it brought someone back from the brink of death. It has to do with powerful emotions, and..."

"Weasley."

"I know it sounds crazy," Rose said, a little desperately now. "I'm not doing it justice, but please, Madam Price, if you just let me try - "

" _Weasley_." This time there was a note of warning in the older witch's voice which she could not ignore. "Mr Malfoy has not been discharged: he is dead."

Rose stood quite silent and motionless, looking at the Head Matron. At length a strange voice emerged, from somewhere deep inside her. "How?"

Queen Anne, the great terror of Healers and Matrons alike, looked at the white face of the young girl standing before her and made an effort to soften her tone, if only slightly. "He died during the night. One of the trainees was on duty - what's-her-name - "

"Sophie," said that strange voice.

"Yes, that's the one. Well, at around two in the morning, Mr Malfoy went into sudden cardiac arrest. Healer Rookwood and one of the Matrons were summoned, but there was nothing either of them could do. No heart abnormalities had been detected in his tests, but that can happen with men of his age, and particularly with the history of drinking that he had."

There was a pause. A Healer passed by outside, stopped by the window of the door, and then quickly went on when he saw the two inside. "Weasley," said the Head Matron at last, her voice stern.

Rose lifted her head. "Yes?"

"Emotions are important, if you wish to become a Healer. I've seen brilliant young witches and wizards get seven 'O's in the NEWTs, pass their preliminary exams with flying colours, and then fail when they get to the wards. You must be able to emphathise with the patient, no matter how difficult they might be: that is the _only_ way you can understand what they need, and how to treat them. But Weasley..." Her voice called Rose back: she was wandering far away somewhere. "If you're going to get attached to every patient you think you can save, then I am telling you right now to choose another career. We can't control everything that happens here. But we can control our emotions."

"Does - " Rose began, and then the sound failed. She tried again. "Does the family know?"

"His grandson is waiting downstairs; I believe one of the Healers just went down to speak to him."

In an instant, Rose Weasley was out of the office again, shutting the door behind her. She flew out of Mortal Maladies. The staff lift took too long, so she pushed through some more doors and took the stairs instead. The damp, dingy smell filled her nostrils as she descended the steps two at a time, her breath coming fast and her throat constricting.

The lobby was beginning to fill up. There was a queue at the main reception desk; it seemed to Rose that they all turned to stare at her as she swept past, their faces grim. At the far end, a small family was waiting outside the door of one of the consultation rooms. They kept looking at one another anxiously, and at intervals the mother rubbed the back of her teenage daughter. Another of the children was crying softly.

A little way down the row of chairs, which was unoccupied apart from the family, Rose saw Scorpius Malfoy: alone, with his head in his hands. She hesitated for the barest of seconds, then came up to him, and touched his shoulder lightly. "You heard?"

"I heard," he answered, taking his hands away. His eyes did not look like they had been crying, but there was a stunned look in them which Rose recognised well enough. "One of the Healers was just down to talk to me. I - can't remember the name."

"It doesn't matter." Rose took the seat next to him, smoothing her robes beneath her as though she cared about creases. She gazed at his profile, searching in her mind for the right thing to say, and then realised, with a stab of frustration, that it would not come. "I'm so sorry, Scorpius. I wish there was something more I could have done."

"Thank you." Scorpius's voice was emotionless, and he did not look at her as he spoke. "You did everything you could. Everyone did. He was... very sick."

Rose could not stop shaking. Every part of her was trembling: it was as though her body had taken over completely. When she spoke again, the tremor ran through her words too. "If you n-need anything..." She stood, smoothed her robes again, had the sense that she was ridiculous. "Just tell me."

Her shoes clacked against the tile floor as she began to step away - and then his hand caught hers. It was cold and clammy. With a shuddering breath, Rose turned back and knelt before him where he sat. She did not care who saw them; she did not care that the little family were watching curiously as she took his hand in both of her own and pressed it to her chest.

Scorpius was hunched over, his face concealed, but she heard his voice distinctly enough as he said, "I'd like to be friends."

"Oh, Scorpius..." Suddenly Rose was sobbing enough for both of them: the white walls of the lobby blurred before her, and all the ambient sounds faded away. The exhaustion of the past couple of days rose like a wave and took her with it. "Me too. Me too."

* * *

All day Friday, Daisy Abbott's mind was distracted. But it was not the thought of the impending concert which made it so difficult for her to focus on her classwork, although every time she remembered it, butterflies fluttered in her stomach. No; there was another thought that had been pressing on her since the Aurors had brought her back from the mountains. It had formed itself into a question when she had found that music of Nott's. And try as she might, she could not find an answer to it.

The question was this: why couldn't she tell anyone the truth about Theodore Nott?

For a week now everyone had been labouring under the delusion that Daphne Greengrass was still alive; that _she_ was dangerous, roaming the country. Hugo's mother believed it; William Corley believed it, the Aurors believed it, even President Spencer all the way across the Atlantic Ocean believed it...

He had given her no proof: only the watch which he claimed had once been his, though that could easily have been obtained from Moribund. There was no reason in the world for her to believe his lies. And yet... and yet...

Of course, she was afraid; that was it. She was afraid that one truth might lead to another: that if she told the Aurors and Harry Potter and her uncle and Professor Broadmoor and everyone that Theodore Nott had kidnapped her, she might have to confess, too, to the lies that had brought _her_ to Hogwarts in the first place.

But during her last class of the day, Daisy Abbott watched her uncle teaching: she kept her eyes fixed on his kind, honest face, on the smile that he reserved for her whenever she got a question right, and finally, she came to a decision. She would tell him.

Students tripped over one another in their eagerness to get out of the greenhouse as soon as class was dismissed. Daisy dawdled, packing her things in her bag slowly. Her throat dry, she glanced up at Uncle Neville every now and then, as he took off his protective gloves and eyewear. _Now or never_ , she kept telling herself, until it became a rhythm in her mind. _Now or never, now or never, now or never_.

But she was not the only one to hang back. Her cousin Enid lingered too, cheerfully chatting away to her about the concert. She was _so_ excited. Wasn't Daisy? She couldn't _wait_ to hear Alice. Could Daisy? She was _so_ jealous of people who could play piano and sing. Was it hard to learn how?

Daisy did her best to discourage this, giving monosyllabic answers to her eager queries, but it had little effect on her cousin's enthusiasm. At last, Neville broke through the stream of chatter with a laugh. "Leave off, Enid. Can't you see you're just making her more nervous?" His eyes moved to Daisy, and he gave her a warm smile. "You'll be great, you know. I'm so glad you're getting your chance to go up there."

A little overwhelmed, Daisy returned his smile and thanked him quietly. Then, beside her, Enid gasped as though something had just occurred to her. "But what are you going to _wear_?"

"My robes, I thought," Daisy said neutrally. "Mr Shirley said we had to wear all black, and I don't really have anything nice that isn't a colour..."

"No, no, _no_ ," said her cousin firmly, and looping her arm through hers, she began to steer her out of the greenhouse. "Come up to my room, and we'll find you something. I'm taller than you, but there's a few of my dresses that should fit you, too..."

Daisy cast a glance back as they were leaving, and saw Neville laughing. He gave her a thumbs up. She felt something drop in her stomach, and then they had stepped outside, and her chance was gone.

It had been snowing earlier in the day, and the covering gave a muffled quality to everything: their footsteps, Enid's loud, eager voice, and even the bell that rang out from the clocktower. Daisy was glad to return to the privacy of her dormitory at last, though she winced when she saw the time. Six o'clock: soon she would have to start getting ready for the concert. It was a good thing none of the other girls were around: they would have just made her more nervous. To think that in an hour's time, she would be playing in front of the whole school: in front of Hugo.

With a heavy sigh, Daisy flopped back on her pillows and stretched out on her four-poster. How nice that dress Enid had lent her looked, hanging up outside her wardrobe... she had tried it on, too, up in the Gryffindor dormitory, and it had not disappointed. Smiling, her eyes began to drift closed while she gazed at it. She would just rest her head for a minute.

Seconds later - or so it seemed to Daisy - she was sitting up again, staring at the clock on her bedside table. Five minutes to seven? It couldn't be. The light filtering in through the enchanted windows had thinned, and someone had closed the curtains. Daisy leapt off her bed and quickly put on Enid's dress. She seized up the black folder of music with which Mr Shirley had provided her, slipped on her shoes and ran out of the dormitory without so much as glancing in the mirror.

Upstairs, a few students were still trickling in to the Great Hall, and gave her funny looks as she streaked past them.

The House tables had been cleared, replaced with row upon row of chairs instead, at which it seemed the entire school was already assembled. Christmas decorations had been put up, but Daisy barely spared a glance for the towering trees and garlands of holly as she slipped down one of the side aisles, stepping over people's legs and apologising under her breath as she went.

There are moments in life when one's self-consciousness might get the better of them, and they mistakenly fear that they are the centre of attention. This was not one of those moments. In Daisy Abbott's case, she knew that everyone really _was_ looking at her, and they kept looking as she climbed the steps to the platform where the choir was assembled. It was clear that the concert had not started yet; there was still a low rumble of conversation among the rows of seats, and the podium, which had been moved to the bottom of the steps, was empty.

The people standing in the choir shifted and turned to stare as Daisy slipped to find her place among them. She looked over their heads to see Mr Shirley standing at the piano to the right of the podium. He was looking right at her, and the expression on his face was not so much angry as appalled.

Lu Scamander was standing in the same row as Daisy, a little way down, and leaned across to hiss at her, "What happened?"

She looked back at the other girl, confused, but before she could say anything, a hush fell over the Great Hall and William Corley rose from the front row of seats. He was festively clad in robes of deep green, and Daisy could not tear her eyes away from his toupée; it lurched dangerously close to one of the floating candles overhead as he took his place at the podium.

" _Ahem_. Merry Christmas to all! How splendid to see everyone gathered here, old friends..." With one hand, he gestured to the black-robed Aurors who were posted around the Hall, "... and new." With the other, he gestured to the row in which he had been sitting, where the Chief Auror from MACUSA and a few of his colleagues sat, in civilian dress. Daisy recognised among them the woman she had met in the bathroom. "I hope you all enjoy this evening of music, provided to us by the school conductor Mr Walter Shirley and his wonderful choir! And of course - " Corley leaned forward on the podium, and added in a stage whisper, " - don't be afraid to sing along!"

Applause rang out through the Great Hall; Mr Shirley took his seat at the piano, and then the concert had begun.

Song after song went by, and gradually Daisy relaxed into the performance and forgot her earlier embarrassment. Of course, whenever she looked into the crowd, a good number of people seemed to be looking back at her - and a great many of them smiling - but she told herself that she must be imagining things. Her eyes even found Hugo at one point, sitting with the rest of the Gryffindors. _He_ was staring at her, too; that she could not have imagined. It was a little strange, though perhaps she was just not used to the attention.

Alice got up and sang _O Holy Night_ , managed to scrape that top note somewhat better than she had in practice, and earned an uproarious applause. She blushed and smiled as she came back up to the platform.

Then it was Daisy's turn. Her stomach plummeted as she heard her name read out by William Corley, but somehow she was moving and climbing down from her row before she even knew it. A few people in the choir called her name as she left them, as though they were wishing her luck. It was an unexpected kindness, which warmed Daisy's heart and gave her the courage to summon a smile before the hundred of people watching her. She passed William Corley as he was moving back to his seat; he gave a start when he saw her, and even made a face. _Lovely man_.

Finally she was at the piano; she was placing her music on the stand, and bowing to the crowd. Her sense of everything was heightened: she felt as though she were moving very slowly. But this, at least, was a familiar sensation to her: she had often felt the same way in her recitals back at her old Muggle school. Her body was on autopilot now, and soon, she knew, she would be sitting at the piano and playing the broken chords of Bach.

But something was wrong. Daisy realised it as she straightened up from her bow. People in the crowd were not cheering: they were laughing, muttering to one another, some even pointing at her! Was this some kind of nightmare? It felt too exaggerated to be real; turning her head, Daisy looked around her, and saw Mr Shirley a little way away. His expression was pained, but at her look of appeal he seemed to come to a decision. He walked up to her and said gravely, "Did you look in the mirror before you came here, Miss Abbott?"

"No," Daisy replied, as a vague kind of horror began to twitch inside her.

"You'd better go look, now," Mr Shirley said gently.

Daisy Abbott moved past the piano and hurried down the central aisle. There was another wave of uncertain laughter as she went; people murmured and craned their necks to look at her. Soon she knew why, as she came into the ground floor bathrooms and saw in the mirror before her the moustache and beard that had been skillfully drawn on her face. The suspense had been so great, and the release so ridiculous that the first feeling she registered was relief. Yet, as Daisy gazed at her reflection, she could not laugh. She could only think about who could have done this to her, and why.

"Daisy! Oh, God, Daisy, I'm so sorry!" Lucinda Scamander burst into the bathrooms, breathless and panting. "I wanted to tell you as soon as I saw you, but then the concert started and no one could talk - and I - I - I thought maybe you had done it for some kind of joke, or something? But of course you wouldn't do that to yourself, of course it wasn't you, it was..."

"It was Alice," Daisy said, poking an experimental finger at the black on her upper lip. "I fell asleep in my dormitory, before the concert. She must have done it then."

"Alice, really? But how? She was practising with us in the Hall before the concert, I didn't see her leave any time..."

More girls were pressing into the bathroom now. Daisy recognised among them her dormitory mates Tracy Towers, Meena Kapoor and a couple of other girls from the choir. They all spoke at once, clamouring to be heard over one another.

"Daisy, it wasn't me, I _swear_! I haven't been back in the dormitory all day..."

"It wasn't me either, Daisy, you have to believe us, we had no idea - "

"Daisy, Mr Shirley's called an interval but he wants you to come back and perform the piece you were going to do afterwards..."

"Here, we'll help you wash that off - "

Daisy Abbott shrugged off their hands and walked past them all, out of the bathroom. She kept walking down the Entrance Hall and out onto the grounds. A few of the girls attempted to go after her, but Lucinda Scamander held them back. "Leave her be. She needs some time to herself." Bit by bit, they returned to the Hall, murmuring to one another how terrible it all was.

Soon Lu was the only one left. Biting her lip as she thought of her friend, she moved back towards the Great Hall, where she could tell from the hush that was falling over the crowd that the concert was starting up again, and stopped short as she came face to face with Hugo Weasley.

The sixth-year Gryffindor had never uttered a word to her in her life, and he did not bother with formalities now as he said, "Where's Daisy?"

"She..." Lu Scamander lifted her chin stubbornly. "She wants to be alone."

"No one wants to be alone," said Hugo, forcefully. "Come on, you're her friend, aren't you? Where did she go?"

* * *

The sun had already set, and blue shadows chased one another across the snow, but when Hugo Weasley threw his leg over the stile and stepped into the bounds of the enchanted garden, he felt all the warmth of a summer's day. He had worn a jacket and tie to the concert, and soon he found he had to take off one and loosen the other. As he walked, he could not help looking around in awe. It was all so green, so bright, even in the fading daylight. He wondered what the place looked like at night, or if anyone had ever even seen it that way.

He crossed a footbridge, came upon a gravelled path, and in the gap between the hedges to his right, passed a little hollow with a pool and a bench. He stopped, and came back. Daisy Abbott was kneeling by the pool in her black dress, splashing water on her face. She had kicked off her shoes; he saw them discarded by the bench as he walked by it.

"All gone?" he asked, kneeling beside her. In answer she pitched forward, dipped her whole face in the water, and came up gasping and dripping a moment later. A few drops hit Hugo as she shook back her hair. He wiped his face discreetly, and producing his wand, conjured a large white handkerchief which he passed to her.

She pressed it over her face, rubbing off what charcoaly streaks remained, and then put down the handkerchief with a sigh. "Thank you."

Hugo took it back again and vanished it. He looked at her carefully as she smoothed back her hair. "I wanted to see if you were all right."

Daisy looked at him, tucking a wet strand behind her ear. There was nothing but concern and kindness in his expression, and his voice was sombre; he did not show any danger of bursting out laughing at her any time soon. Her throat constricted, and a part of her wished he would leave her alone so that she could curl up and cry. This was _her_ place. But then, she corrected herself a moment later, that was not fair. The memorial garden was open to all people who had lost loved ones, and she did not know if she herself even counted in that category anymore. Whereas Hugo Weasley most certainly did.

She managed to give him a reassuring smile as she rose to her feet. "I'm fine. Really." He stood, too, and followed her as she started back towards the path.

"Your shoes." He caught up with her just as she was about to step onto the gravel, and handed them over. Daisy took them, swallowing her embarrassment. Of course, in her haste, she had picked the oldest, ugliest shoes in her wardrobe. She slipped them on one by one, and Hugo offered his shoulder for her to balance on as she did so.

"Thank you," she said again. Then she walked on, across the gravel. She turned onto the footbridge, without having much of an idea where she was going. To return to the castle now was unthinkable, but she could not relax with him here.

"It's strange," Hugo mused after a moment. "I never come here, but it all feels so real."

"It _is_ real." Daisy stopped walking and leaned on the parapet of the bridge, looking down into the brook beneath. Ripples shook the stillness as a water hen surfaced, swung her short neck around, and then dove again. Spellbound, she watched the dark shape flicker in the depths of the water, there one minute, and gone the next.

Hugo halted, too, and turned to look at the girl beside him. She did not seem to notice his gaze; her attention was caught by something else as she looked down towards the water, her lips slightly parted. In the fading light of the false summer sun, her hair was a mass of light golds and browns, gathered together at the nape of her neck in a careless knot. The black dress, though a little long for her, fit well, its short sleeves revealing the white curve of her arms, one of which now trailed over the parapet.

She did not look unhappy, but still he ventured to say, as the water hen broke the surface again with a little splash, "Are you sure you're all right?"

Daisy did not look at him, but he sensed by the sudden tension in her shoulders, and by the way she withdrew her arm from over the parapet, that he had taken her by surprise. _Well_ , thought Hugo, _there's nothing for it now_ , and he went on, "What happened back there... it was bad, I know, but you can't take it too seriously. It was just some stupid prank."

She was quiet, her eyes still directed down towards the water. He thought for a moment, biting his lip, and then continued. "I know it hasn't been easy for you, here. And with Tobias gone, now, too, I can't - but things will get better, trust me. Hogwarts isn't such a bad place."

There was another pause. _To hell with it_ , Hugo Weasley thought, and he took a step forward, leaning both elbows on the parapet and keeping his own gaze fixed on the water as he said all in a rush, "Look, I know I haven't helped matters. I can be a prat... sometimes: I'm well aware. But you can't listen to me too much; you have to - I dunno, be yourself or whatever." The silence stretched on. "For God's sake, I know I'm making a mess of it but what I'm trying to say is I'm sorry."

He stared at the water fiercely. And then he heard Daisy speak.

"You have nothing to be sorry about."

Hugo looked around at her, and saw that she had turned to him, and was smiling. And it was not just any smile, either: it was a smile that reached her eyes, and transformed her face so that she looked altogether quite different.

"It wasn't always... easy, with you," she admitted, after a moment. "But I know you're a good person. I've known that since I met you." Then she blushed. "It's why I like you so much, I suppose."

Hugo suddenly found it necessary to look down at the boards of the bridge beneath them.

"And when you were my mentor," Daisy went on, "You made me miserable but I really _did_ improve. I could tell you cared about me doing well."

"Of course I did." Embarrassed, Hugo shook his head. "I still do. I was - worried... I knew it would be hard for you to learn so much..."

"But I'm not your responsibility." Daisy Abbott's voice was firm, and in growing surprise, Hugo looked up at her again. She had drawn herself up to her full height, and her clear eyes were looking steadily into his. "At least, not anymore. You don't have to be keep being nice to me. It's not so bad here: really it isn't. Whenever things happen... like today, I can come back to this place." She lifted her hand off the parapet and gestured to the garden around her, then let it fall again. "And I've got people who care about me. I'm not alone."

Hugo watched her, silent. He didn't think he had ever heard Daisy Abbott say so much before.

"As for... the other thing," she went on, gently, even as her blush deepened. "I'll get over it."

He cleared his throat. "Daisy, I - "

"Don't worry about it, Hugo." There was a finality to her tone that silenced him. With one last smile, she passed him and walked down the bridge. He leaned on the parapet for a long time after she had left, deep in thought. Here was his chance to see the place by night, but he barely noticed it. As the stars emerged in the clear sky above him, they only succeeded in making him feel smaller than ever.

* * *

 **Music:**

Prelude in C - Johann Sebastian Bach

"Chinatown" - La La Land score, Justin Hurwitz

"Beth's Secret" - Little Women soundtrack, Thomas Newman

"If I Loved You" - Carousel, Rodgers and Hammerstein


	13. Sticks and Stones

**A/N:** Happy summer! I hope you've been all been enjoying yourselves, working hard, binging on Stranger Things, etc.

 **Previously** : " _Daisy, I am your father_." - Theodore Nott

" _Professor Firenze, we are arresting you for possession of illicit substances, which were found in your office_." - Chief Auror Weiss of MACUSA Elite Squad

" _I'm not your responsibility. At least, not anymore. You don't have to keep being nice to me_." - Daisy Abbott

" _But what are we going to do about the Forest? You know, the portal Uncle George was talking about? Do you think it's still open?"_ \- Lily Potter

* * *

 **Copyright** : JK Rowling

* * *

"'Tis a lesson you should heed, try, try again. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again."

"The definition of insanity is repeating the same mistakes and expecting different results."

* * *

 **Chapter 11: Sticks and Stones**

There were no stables in Hogwarts. The Thestrals were kept in a snowy field close to the edge of the Forest, and the horses attached to the squad of Elite Aurors had filled up the last few stalls in Hogsmeade stables. So when the question arose as to where Firenze the centaur ought to be held after his arrest, there was a little difficulty at first.

But William Corley was nothing if not resourceful, and while Weiss and the other Elite Aurors deliberated, he came up with a solution. The gatehouse was perfect, he declared. It was designed to be secure: it had bars on the windows; it was at ground level, and it was far enough away from the castle that students like that Weasley boy and that Potter girl would not come interfering.

In any case, they were occupied at the moment with exams, but Corley preferred not to take any chances.

On Monday morning, when he and Spencer's Aurors had been staying in the school for about a fortnight, he took a walk down to the gatehouse. It was a cold and crisp day, and his boots sank into the snow with each step. An icy wind swept along the grounds, sending his scarf waving about in the air. Scowling, Corley tucked it back under the lapels of his coat. How glad he would be when he got away from this Scottish weather.

When he reached the gatehouse, he did not enter through the door, but went to the window instead and rapped on the bars twice. There was a pause, then the window slid back, and one of Spencer's Aurors appeared in the partition. He was bald, not much younger than Corley himself, and wore a sullen expression. "Mr Corley, sir."

"Hello there, my - er - my good man," Corley said pleasantly. Why didn't Aurors wear nametags? What with their own and then the Americans, too, it was getting to be rather confusing. "I wish to speak to your prisoner for a moment, if you please."

The Auror considered him for a moment before disappearing. Corley stamped his feet in the snow while he waited. He heard the low rumble of voices, the clip-clop of hooves, and then the centaur was gazing out at him with his unnerving blue eyes. "Mr Corley," he said softly. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, I wanted to see how you were getting on," Corley said, even as his nose wrinkled with distaste at the sight of the creature.

"I don't enjoy being kept behind bars." The centaur's voice was low, melodious. "How much longer am I to be held here?"

"Once you are brought before the Board for questioning, you will then be moved to the Ministry. And I shall be accompanying you." Corley gave Firenze a greasy smile.

The centaur blinked back at him, considering him for a moment. "No, I don't think you will, Mr Corley."

William Corley bristled, drawing himself up. "How dare you…"

"You wish to be elsewhere," Firenze continued, without taking those unnerving eyes off him. "Back where you belong, in the Ministry. But the men you have installed here are more powerful than you think."

"And you have seen this in your visions, have you?" Corley scoffed, even as the hairs at the back of his neck prickled. "Spare me, please."

"I have had no visions. I have been locked up here the past week, remember." Firenze looked at him steadily. "But my eyes tells me much, Mr Corley."

"Right. Well…" William Corley cleared his throat loudly, and wound his scarf around his neck again, puffing his chest out. "I'm a busy man, as you'll recall. Expect to hear from myself and the Board in the next - ah - day or so." He turned his back and walked away without another word, seething.

Back indoors, he paced up and down and thought of the centaur's words. His office, which he had specially requested on his arrival at Hogwarts, overlooked his favourite view in the castle: the North Tower courtyard. But Corley found that the view did not please him now. The place looked miserable, all damp stone and freezing winds. He glared out at it, then at the pile of parchment on his desk. There was so much reading to do... back in the Ministry, his assistant had taken care of such things, leaving him free to carry out more important work.

Corley looked out the window again, and blinked, for walking across the courtyard he saw Theodore Nott. He sucked in a sharp breath, threw a hand out at the windowframe for support, and watched as Nott looked up at him, and smiled.

"This is one of your little parlour tricks again, isn't it?" he demanded as soon as that same wizard rematerialised in his office. "You wanted to give me a bit of a scare, I suppose? Well, I'm sorry to disappoint, Theodore, but you don't frighten me in the least."

Theodore Nott looked back at him, and there was no humour in his face as he said, "You're lying, William. You don't have the slightest comprehension of my abilities, and that _does_ frighten you. But more importantly, you know that you have failed me. You ignored an express order of mine, and did not tell anyone of Daphne Greengrass's return until it was too late."

William Corley moved from the window, leaned against the back of his desk and folded his arms. He managed to summon an unconcerned smile, and met Theodore Nott's gaze again. "And what exactly can you do to me, Theodore? You're miles away. You might be clever, but even your little tricks can't bring you close to the castle without detection."

"Yes," said Theodore Nott, rather unexpectedly. "And that is what I will need your help with."

" _My_ help?" Corley began to laugh, even as he felt himself getting rather short of breath.

"There is someone in the castle whom I very much want to see." There was a pause, then Nott added scornfully, "Not you, William; there's no need to look so alarmed."

William Corley was silent for a moment, as he considered. Then he straightened, and moved to the window, turning his back on Theodore Nott's projection even though it went against every instinct of his. "And why on earth would I let you near the castle? Hmmm? You tried to threaten my granddaughter before, but she's safe here. Guarded."

"And I admit, that was rather crude of me," Nott said. "In any case, Daphne would never have hurt Rosemary. She was on her own personal quest."

"'Was'?" Corley repeated, frowning. "So am I right in thinking that Greengrass is dead, and you have been impersonating her?"

"You are right. And as I said, threatening your family was a rather crude measure. I ought to have threatened something you hold much more dear: your reputation and power in the Ministry." Nott paused as Corley was silent. "Because, William, if I am caught, I will take you down with me. And once Weasley and Potter know that you let me back into the country, your career will be over."

"But you won't be caught, will you?" William Corley turned; he was feeling somewhat calmer. "You're far too clever for that."

Theodore Nott held his gaze. He was not wearing glasses, and his eyes were as unnerving as that centaur's. "Perhaps I might let the Aurors catch up with me."

"You wouldn't," Corley said sharply. "They'd lock you up for life."

"Perhaps I'm tired of running." Theodore Nott tilted his head, and they stood watching each other for a few minutes, the silence heavy. "William, my friend. I will forgive you for betraying my trust, and let bygones be bygones, if you can arrange to let me into the castle. You will have to be very careful: I am not afraid of being caught, of course, but you should be."

He was bluffing, Corley thought. He had to be. Aloud, he said briskly, "This person you wish to see - can't you just visit them as you're visiting me now?"

Theodore Nott shook his head. "Unfortunately not. You and I have a special bond, you see, William." He watched Corley for a moment more, and finally, smiled again. "I will leave it to your conscience, William. When everything is ready, you will let me know."

When the projection had faded and William Corley was alone in his office again, he cursed and shoved the parchment off his desk with a sweep of his hand. Then he punched the wall and howled, tucking his fist into his chest.

"Mr Corley?" one of the American Aurors called through the door. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine, fine!" Corley snapped, then kicked the chair over for good measure. When had he allowed things to get so complicated? Theodore Nott was the rot that had set into his life; Theodore Nott would be the ruin of him, imprisoned or free.

* * *

The hooded figure stopped at the edge of the clearing and turned. Daisy could not make out his features: they were as dark and indistinct as the trees behind him. Her hands were sweating. A sliver of light broke through from overhead, and illuminated his hand, gaunt and skeletal, rising from the folds of his cloak and clutching a wand. She looked up, and saw that the moon had emerged from the clouds.

Then she heard his voice, low and lethal, as it began to utter the words of the incantation that would finish her -

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

A jet of red light streaked from her wand and struck her opponent. He stumbled back, his hood falling to reveal his surprised face, and in the next instant, his wand had flown from his hand into hers. Her chest heaving, Daisy stared at the two wands in her hands.

The trees around her melted away, the man with the hood disappeared, and she was left with one wand as she found herself back in the familiar environs of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. The desks had all been cleared, and she stood in the middle of the wide space, her heart still thumping in her chest.

"Well done, Daisy," said Professor Cattermole. She looked surprised. "You've obviously been practising."

Slowly, Daisy looked up at the other witch. She could hardly believe her ears.

"Of course, you know that your final grade will be a combination of your practical and written examinations," her professor continued. "But that was a difficult simulation, and you handled yourself well. Good luck with the rest of your exams."

Grinning like an idiot, Daisy Abbott made her way out of the classroom. _You handled yourself well_! The words spun around in her head until she could hardly make sense of them. Was she dreaming?

It was all spoiled when she saw the man's face again. The Defence professor had explained before that the environments produced for their practical examination would be fuelled by their own fears. As such, it shouldn't have been surprising whom Daisy's opponent in the Forest had resembled - but what if Professor Cattermole had noticed it?

One of the American Aurors was waiting for her outside the classroom, and stepped forward as she saw her. "Miss Abbott? Can you come with me, please, ma'am?"

Daisy blinked as her eyes adjusted to the sunlight streaming in the windows of the first-floor corridor, then hurried along after the Auror. They crossed a covered walkway, their steps loud on the stone floor. "Am I - in trouble?"

The Auror looked straight ahead. Daisy recognised her as one of the few women on the squad of Elite Aurors. "I'm not authorised to answer any questions until we get to the hospital wing."

"The hospital wing?" Daisy repeated, baffled, and then, as her companion was silent, pressed on, "What's your name? I've seen you around before."

"Officer Harrington," the woman said shortly, and then they had stepped off the walkway and into a darker corridor, at the end of which lay the door to the hospital wing.

She was shown into the main office instead of the ward. Sitting by the worktop in her white robes was Healer Hopkirk, her face solemn. A little distance away, by the small window that faced into the ward, the Headmaster sat with his hands folded in his lap. Harrington closed the door after they had entered and rested her back against it.

This was it: this was the moment that had haunted her nightmares since she had started at Hogwarts. Daisy felt her legs go weak and wobbly, and she all but collapsed into the chair they conjured for her.

Healer Hopkirk was the first to speak. With her careworn face and ruddy cheeks, she looked like someone's mother. "I'm sorry if this is distressing for you, Daisy," she said, "But we must ask you some questions."

They had her surrounded. What else could she do but nod, and stare at the floor, and await their judgement?

"It has come to our attention recently that there is a problem with bullying and exclusion in this school."

Daisy looked up. She did not know whether to feel relieved or afraid.

"Hogwarts," the Healer went on, "has always been a no tolerance school when it comes to such issues. However, with the new insight of our friends from MACUSA…" She nodded at Harrington by the door, "... we have come to realise that the parents and staff of the school have not been doing enough to prevent this sort of thing from happening."

Professor Broadmoor cleared his throat, and the Healer looked towards him as he spoke next. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "Sophia and I have no wish to... ah... intimidate you, Miss Abbott, and of course you don't have to talk about anything if you're not comfortable. However, after a certain - incident - at the Christmas concert last week, we have to address the possibility that you might be... ah, that is, we cannot ignore…"

"We want to offer you our support, Daisy," Healer Hopkirk took over, and the Headmaster gave her a grateful look. "If there's someone who has been giving you a hard time, whether it be a student or a member of staff, we'd like you to feel that you are able to tell us. And we'd like to be able to rectify the situation."

This _was_ a nightmare, Daisy decided. A nightmare of an entirely different sort. She drew a deep breath. "I can't think of anyone."

Healer Hopkirk sighed. "Then what happened at the concert?"

"That was... just a joke."

There was a silence. Broadmoor looked relieved. "Are you sure, Daisy?"

It was strange, to hear the Headmaster address her by her first name. She nodded.

"But Officer Harrington did bring something to our attention." Healer Hopkirk seemed more reluctant to let the matter go. She looked at the Auror pointedly, who reluctantly stepped forward.

"I... observed Miss Abbott eating lunch in the girls' restrooms one day."

Daisy could feel her face growing hot. "I keep to myself," she said quickly. "I don't have a lot of friends. Doesn't mean I'm being bullied."

Hopkirk and Broadmoor exchanged glances, as though coming to a silent decision, and then the Headmaster stood up, extending a hand to Daisy. "Thank you, Miss Abbott. As we said, we have no wish to upset you, but we hope to get to the bottom of this matter by interviewing a number of students."

"Of course." Some foreign voice was speaking from her lips as she stood up, too, and shook the Headmaster's hand. "I understand."

* * *

The Great Hall was half-empty at breakfast that morning, since many students have risen earlier to attend their practical examinations. For the sixth years, those were all out of the way, and Hugo Weasley could not help feeling a little smug about it.

"What's this?" he exclaimed in delight as his owl dropped a package in his lap.

"Early Christmas present?" Lily inquired, leaning over to see as he opened it.

Hugo's face fell. "A two-way mirror." He held it up to show her, then hastily tucked it into his bookbag before any of the Aurors could see. "From Albus."

"Hmm. Because they've cracked down on the Floo." Lily sighed. "I suppose we can't put it off anymore. We really should tell him."

But Hugo shook his head. "Not until we talk to Firenze again. You know how hard it is get a real answer out of him." He lowered his voice. "We can't be sure what he meant, when he said that about destroying the Deathly Hallows…"

"I think it's pretty straightforward, Hugo. You just don't want to have that conversation with Albus."

"Well," her cousin said, with a helpless look, "Can you blame me?"

They both looked around, as the Head Boy plonked himself down in the seat between them and dropped his head into his hands.

"You OK, Shack?" Hugo asked, after a moment's confused silence had elapsed.

Zane Shacklebolt did not raise his head. "Prefect's meeting later," he said through inkstained fingers. "Make sure you're there."

"All right…"

"What day is it?" The Head Boy sat up so quickly that they both started in their seats. His eyes were bloodshot and watery, and there were dark shadows under them.

"Tuesday."

"Daisy had her Defence practical this morning. I'd better see how she got on." Zane made to move out of his seat, then stopped as Hugo put a hand on his arm.

"Shack. Seriously. What's up with you?"

The Head Boy sat back into his seat again, and sighed heavily. "I'll be fine once the holidays are here."

"Have some coffee," Lily offered, reaching for the silver pot, but Zane shook his head.

"Healer Hopkirk said if I have any more coffee she'll put me in St Mungo's."

"Jesus, Shack."

"It's OK," Zane said rapidly. "I knew what I was getting into - with the Head Boy thing, and getting enough NEWTs to get into the Auror programme, and then the mentoring... but…" He trailed off helplessly, rubbing his hands over his face again. Then he turned to look at Hugo. "Do you know how many students I agreed to mentor at the start of the year? Four. And I have to know all their exam schedules, and meet them after in case they have any problems, and then write up a progress report for the board, and I still have two exams to study for, and…" With a laugh that had an edge of hysteria to it, "... and I'm not even getting paid for all this!"

"That is, erm, a lot," Hugo said, exchanging glances with Lily. She made a face, then reached out to pat Zane on the back as he dropped his head onto his arms again.

"And this new anti-bullying thing," Zane continued, his voice muffled, "As if there wasn't enough for me to worry about…"

"What anti-bullying thing?" Hugo frowned.

"Oh, you'll see." The Head Boy lifted his head again and gave him a look that was darkly significant. " _You'll_ see. That's what the meeting today is about. Did I tell you what time it's on?" He screwed up his face, and slapped his forehead. "Oh, Merlin, I can't even remember…"

"I'm sure Hugo can figure that out," Lily Potter broke in. "Go back to your dormitory, Zane. Have a nap, or something."

Zane nodded, and rose from his seat again with creaking limbs. "Yes, that's a good idea. Good… idea..." He flapped a feeble hand in farewell.

"Whew." Hugo shook his head at Lily.

"I know." They watched as the Head Boy drifted towards the doors of the Great Hall, and almost tripped over the edge of a bench.

"Maybe I'll go after him, make sure he doesn't collapse," Hugo said quickly, as he stood and slung his bag over his shoulder.

"Maybe that would be wise."

* * *

Despite being Head of Security, the movements of Spencer's men were still something of a mystery to William Corley, and it took him some time to track down Chief Auror Weiss. He was not in the Headmaster's Tower; nor was he in the Aurors' assigned quarters on the third floor, where most of the lot spent their off-duty time.

So Corley was forced to walk back through the dusty armoury, down three flights of stairs, into an Entrance Hall crowded with raucous children, and out a side entrance through several different courtyards before he finally wound up in the training grounds.

The sight with which he was rewarded (if one could call it a reward) was Gordon Weiss in a ratty tracksuit, jogging around the perimeter of the training grounds, kicking up flakes of snow with his old trainers. Corley shook his head in disgust. An English Auror would never have been caught in such an indignified position. He raised a hand and hailed the man.

Weiss saw him, changed course, and slowed to a stop before him. He was wearing earphones, which he plucked out of his ears, and there were great sweat rings under his arms.

"Is there a problem, Mr Corley?"

"Yes, there's a problem," Corley spat. "I just heard that the centaur has been released!"

"You mean Professor Firenze, sir? His hearing has, uh, been delayed, and the Board has agreed that to hold him any longer would be a violation of due process…"

"Why wasn't I told?"

The Auror blinked at him. He was so young, Corley thought, he looked as though he could be his son. What age did they start training over there? he wondered. "Well, uh, sir, _I_ made the decision."

"But you answer to me, Weiss!"

A hard gleam came into the Auror's eye. "No, sir. I answer to President Spencer."

"Well... then... then what's all this about bullying?" Corley blustered, even as his confusion grew. "You want to bring in some kind of namby-pamby programme, or so I hear - "

" _Sticks and Stones_ has already proven successful in Ilvermorny," said Weiss, with an edge to his voice.

"Ilvermorny? And that's where you studied, I'm guessing, hmm?" Corley shook a finger. "Well, let me tell you that over _here_ , we do things a little differently. For a start, we're made of tougher stuff. When I was at school…"

"Mr Corley," the Chief Auror interrupted. "My team is here for security reasons, and bullying is a security issue. Over the past two weeks, we've noticed some worrying patterns of behaviour among the students."

"Balderdash!"

"Whatever your personal opinions might be, sir," Weiss said sharply, "President Spencer has plans for Hogwarts, and those plans come first. If you feel you don't fit in with them, then I'm sure we can make other arrangements for you."

William Corley's voice was low. "Are you threatening me?"

"Like I said, Mr Corley, I answer to the President only. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a couple more laps to do." Weiss put in his earphones once more and jogged away. Corley was left standing at the edge of the training grounds, his mouth opening and closing like that of a fish.

* * *

Zane Shacklebolt was now forty minutes late for their study session, and Daisy Abbott had reached the conclusion that he was never going to show up.

It was understandable, of course; she told herself. He was Head Boy; he had so much on his mind. And he had never missed a session before; he had never even been late. And he was always so nice when he mentored her; so patient with her, so ready to explain, so clever and so... so…

"Useless!" Daisy burst out, surprising herself. She looked down at the transfiguration formula, which she had scrawled on a page a half-hour ago, and which had been staring her down ever since. Beside it she had written those letters which she had meant to cast out of her mind forever: H.W.

A scrape of her chair, and she was on her feet. Standing was better, yes; now she could really think clearly, now, with a little movement, she could master that formula; she just had to say it over and over to herself.

"T," she started, falteringly, "T equals…" Placing both hands on either side of her head to aid the flow of ideas, "T equals w and c over v and a times Z…"

Daisy had now paced around the entire perimeter of the little alcove she and Shacklebolt shared for their sessions... the same alcove where she and Hugo had once studied together - where he had touched her hand and set her heart fluttering…

"No," she said aloud, with greater resolve, and then resumed her pacing. What did the letters stand for? "T is for transfiguration." Addressing the spine of a book on a shelf she passed as though it could benefit from the information, "w is for wand power." With a smart nod to her reflection in the window, "c is for... concentration. a is for…" Daisy frowned. "a is for the mass of the beginning object. v is for - viciousness." Her frown deepened. "And Z - Z is an unknown variable!"

There it was! Her hands fell to her sides, and she smiled broadly. Striding back to the table and flipping over the page, she saw that she had it right. That was all very well, of course, but... Daisy turned about and gazed at her reflection again, and now her eyes were wide with dismay.

"What does it all mean?"

The trouble, Daisy Abbott reflected once she sat down and composed herself again, was that clever people just couldn't explain things. Zane had gone through the transfiguration formula with her only last week, and she had listened, and every single word had slipped in one ear and out the other. But he had smiled at her so kindly at the end, and looked so hopeful - and then praised her so politely when she attributed all of the initials to the correct variables - that she hadn't had the heart to tell him she was still utterly and completely lost.

Back when Hugo had been mentoring her, of course, he never bothered being polite or kind, but with him, at least, she learned things; he was good at explaining, or maybe it was just that he scared her into understanding…

Daisy dropped her head into her hands. Why did Hugo Weasley invade every thought? Here she was, in the library at night, with nothing and no one to distract her, and with her Transfiguration exam looming in the morning, and still all she could think about was him. She groaned, dragging her hands along her temples so that her hair spilled over her face. Then, shaking it back, she sat up straight in her seat, thumbed through the pages in her notebook, and rose to her feet again.

"To transfigure an object, there are five factors to take into account," she read out loud. "Wand power." With one hand, she lifted the hem of her long black skirt and hopped over a stack of books on the floor; with the other, she held Umfraville's notes out at arm's length.

"Concentration." She passed the window, her fingers trailing along the sill and tapping out a silent pattern on the wood while her eyes remained fixed on the parchment before her. "Mass." She leaned for an instant on a shelf to her right, then jumped aside again as it creaked dangerously. "Viciousness. And... and…"

"The unknown variable?"

Daisy looked up from her notebook, ready to voice her agreement with whoever had just entered the alcove, and her eyes landed on Hugo Weasley. She backed away one step, then another.

"Getting on OK?" he asked. Like her, he was clad in Muggle clothes. His gold prefect's badge was pinned to his scarlet jumper.

"Fine," she replied, too quickly, and then winced as her back struck the table behind her. She did not have to look at him to know he was laughing at her; the struggle was in keeping her own expression neutral as she stepped back over the stack of books and resumed her seat. How long had he been watching her? Had she been speaking loud enough to alert the whole library to her presence? Or had he sought her out on purpose?

"Need any help?" he asked next, in tones of encouraging gravity, but still Daisy did not look up.

"No, thank you," was her answer, but this, too, was given so quickly that Hugo Weasley could not really be blamed for ignoring it.

"You've been on your own?"

Daisy seized up her quill, twirled it and then put it down again, the aim of which exercise could only be understood by herself. "No," she lied. "I just had a session with Zane."

"Did you?" Out of the corner of her eye - for she still refused to look up - she saw Hugo take a step forward. "And how are you fixed for the exam tomorrow?"

"Pretty well," Daisy said airily, thumbing through the pages of her notebook. "Zane explained everything."

"Did he? That's impressive. Considering he's been in the hospital wing for the past day."

Daisy's hands stilled. Out of concern for Zane, she was driven at last to look up and ask sheepishly, "What happened?"

"Stress," Hugo said as he reached her table. "And too much coffee." He cleared the stack of books blocking the way with the slightest motion of his wand. "He'll be OK. It's nothing that a bit of rest won't fix." As the books rearranged themselves into a neat pile on the table, he stopped by her seat, and looked over her shoulder at the fruits of her labour. Daisy shut her eyes in silent mortification.

"You're approaching this the wrong way," she heard him say at last. "The transfiguration formula isn't a mathematical one. It's not like the ones you might have studied before in your Muggle school. You can't calculate it; you can't force the variables to relate to one another because they won't."

A pause. Then, seeming to interpret her silence as incomprehension, Hugo sighed. "See, take this piece of paper as an example." He leaned over her, one hand brushing her arm as it reached for the desired object. "If you wanted to transfigure this piece of paper into - say, a leaf - you would have to take all of those factors into consideration: the mass of the paper, the power of your wand, your own level of concentration, and, of course…"

"Aren't you busy?" Daisy interrupted. Hugo paused. Forcing herself to turn and meet his eyes, she saw the surprise in them. She continued, in more even tones, "You're not my mentor anymore. You don't have to explain this stuff to me."

"I... know," he said, after a moment, with an incredulous smile. "But I thought I'd check on you." Another pause elapsed, and then, "I don't mind, Daisy. I wanted to look something up here before it closes, anyway." He leaned forward again, bracing one hand on the back of her chair as he held out the paper. "So just imagine you're transfiguring this into - what did I say? - a leaf. The first thing you need to take into consideration…"

Enclosed within the circle of his arms, Daisy listened, and watched, and found - even with a distracted mind and a thumping heart - comprehension starting to dawn on her. She wrote down the new formula Hugo dictated, concentrated hard, and finally attempted with her own wand a similar, mostly successful transfiguration.

"Well done." Hugo looked pleased as he turned over the flimsy white leaf. "See? It's not so hard." He dragged a chair next to her and sat into it. "Anything else you're having trouble with?"

The lamp on the windowsill burned low, with Hugo talking and directing all the while, and soon Daisy was able to relax into the old routine and give her full attention to her work. It was just like it used to be, she told herself, whenever she had a moment to think. Nothing had changed.

"I'd better get that book," Hugo said at last. "You OK with the Inanimatus Conjurus?"

"Mmm-hmm," Daisy said, without so much as raising her head. She was biting on the tip of her quill. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her eyes moving along the page. Suddenly Hugo was smiling. He reached out and brushed her cheek with his thumb.

"How do you always manage to get ink on your face?"

The tip of the quill slipped off Daisy's lower lip, and slowly she turned wide eyes on him. Hugo could not have looked away even if he had wanted to; the plain adoration in her gaze captivated him. It made him feel as though he had stepped from darkness into the sun's warm glow.

"Is it gone?" she asked at last.

"Yeah, it's gone." Hugo dropped his hand, still smiling at her. He rose and swung a leg over his chair. When he had walked the length of one bookshelf, he turned back. Daisy Abbott had her head down over her books, and did not look up. She was sitting very still, as though she were waiting for something.

Waiting for him to go? _You don't have to be nice to me_ , she had said to him in the garden that day. Making a face, Hugo Weasley shrugged his shoulders and went on his way. It was too late in the evening to start puzzling over that again, and at any rate, his mind was supposed to be on much more important things.

* * *

"She steals people's friends. It's _so_ unfair. She always…" Rosemary stopped short, and folded her plump arms over her chest. "Grandad. Are you listening to me?"

William Corley wasn't listening, of course. He was too busy wishing he was anywhere other than in these bloody cold stands, above a bloody cold Quidditch pitch. But he was also well-practised in lying to the females of his family, and so he said tightly, "Of course, darling. Carry on, won't you?"

"OK. Well, you see, Amy took Tara away at breaktime when we were playing and talked to her for ages. And Tara told me when she came back that Amy said that Tara should ditch me and hang out with _her_ group instead. But Tara said she'd never leave me 'cause she's my BFF."

"BFF?" Since some response of his appeared to be required, Corley latched onto the last part of his granddaughter's speech. His eyes remained fixed on the Quidditch pitch far below. There they were, parading about in white, doing some kind of drill. _Ridiculous_ , he thought, to comfort himself, _They look positively ridiculous._

"BFF means Best Friend Forever," Rosemary explained patiently. "Haven't you ever had a BFF, Grandad?"

"Of - of course," Corley said distractedly. Merlin, it _was_ cold! Was that Weiss down there, heading the group? Of course it was. That man was obsessed with exercise.

"Well, you see, _I_ think stealing someone else's BFF is the worst thing you can do."

"Oh, by far."

"And Amy doesn't even like Tara! They used to be enemies, you see, ever since Tara said she doesn't like cats. But Sarah Spellman… Granddad?"

"Yes, yes, still listening, darling."

"Sarah Spellman is the head of Amy's group. And everything has to go through her. So she must have told Amy to get Tara to join their group _even_ though they hate each other because Sarah wants to take Tara away from me."

William Corley looked around at his granddaughter. She was leaning against the railing now, her elbows propping her up as she peered down at the white figures far below. Although her chubby cheeks had a childish pout, she held herself with that same poise as her mother - and her mother's mother, Corley's wife. He felt a swell of pride. They were a fine family.

"Well, you listen to me, Rosemary, dear," he said fondly. "You tell that common little Sarah girl to stick to her own sort."

However, this was not the right response. His granddaughter sighed heavily, and swung around to glare at him. "You _obviously_ haven't been listening, Granddad! This isn't the Mudblood Sarah who came to my birthday party last year! This is Sarah _Spellman_. Her dad owns the Montrose Magpies."

"Oh," Corley said, as he rubbed his frozen hands together. Rosemary was still glaring at him.

" _Now_ you see. So what should I do?"

"Well." William Corley considered for a long moment. His granddaughter plonked herself down on the seat next to him and sighed again. "It seems to me," he said at last, "That this Sarah Spellman thinks she's more popular than you."

" _Exactly_." The twelve-year-old's face was grave. "And if she gets Tara to join her group, then she will be."

"But Tara was your friend first." Corley glanced sidelong at his granddaughter, and then, at her pointed glance, he cleared his throat. "That is, your BFF. So as long as she stays loyal to you, Spellman can't get to her." He paused, and his eyes drifted past Rosemary to the Quidditch pitch again. He could not make out Weiss's figure now, but it did not matter. It was all becoming clear, what he had to do. _From the mouths of babes_ … " _You_ are in control, remember. You just have to use your allies to your advantage."

"But how?" Rosemary asked after a moment. "How do I do that?"

Corley leaned forward, smiling, and tapped her temple. "I'm sure that little head will figure it out." He shook her hand. "Good luck in your campaign, my dear."

* * *

The assembly had been announced that morning, and all day everyone kept grumbling about it. It was bad enough being confined to stuffy exam halls while other students frolicked in the snow and skated on the frozen lake. Now, instead of going back to their common rooms to do a post-mortem on Professor Umfraville's paper, the fifth years were forced to drag their weary feet to the Great Hall.

Daisy was not thrilled with the arrangement, either. Most of her time was divided between the memorial garden and the library these days - and she had taken to avoiding the latter since her encounter with Hugo Weasley yesterday. It was torture, to sit there beside him and have him touch her and act like she didn't care...

Inside the Great Hall, the House tables had been replaced by rows of chairs, as on the evening of the concert. A couple of banners floating around the room read in bold, naive letters: _Sticks and Stones_.

Most people had arrived already, so Daisy ended up taking one of the few empty seats: right behind a group of Gryffindors. Hugo turned to smile at her as she was stepping over people's feet. She smiled back, and spent the next five minutes examining the nape of his neck, where his auburn hair gathered in a 'V', soft as a baby's. He had grown it out a little over the past month, and the cut was less severe than it had been. Daisy decided she liked it. Then she wondered if her smile to him had looked awkward. Then she wondered if he thought she had deliberately sat close to him. And then Professor Broadmoor came onto the platform, and her attention was wrenched away.

"Good afternoon, students! I'm glad to see all of your faces here. We've got a lot to talk to you about today, and I'm going to let my colleague and your dedicated Healer, Sophia Hopkirk, do the introductions."

There was a smattering of applause as Healer Hopkirk came on stage. Her face was grim as she took up a piece of parchment and began to read off it. "The first important thing to realise about the prevention of bullying is that the participation of students is key to the process." Here she looked up, then quickly down again, and Daisy noticed her hands were shaking with nerves. "The _Sticks and Stones_ programme is all about getting students to familiarise themselves with the patterns of bullying. It was founded in Ilvermorny, Massachusetts, by..."

A wave was passing among the students assembled: mumble, murmur, mumble. Healer Hopkirk talked on, about visual mediums and integrated initiatives and classroom environments, and Daisy's heart began to beat faster and faster. She felt just as though a spotlight was shining onto her from the stage. And even though no one was looking at her, she burrowed further and further down in her seat.

More applause. Broadmoor came on again as Hopkirk sat down. "There will now be a questionnaire passed around to you all. This should be completed in pairs, and I advise you to choose a partner you don't know very well, as part of the… er… exercise." In the confused silence that followed this, the Headmaster added, more forcefully, "Come on, get moving."

The screech of chairs echoed all around the Hall. Daisy's eyes followed Hugo as he rose, stretching his arms. _What is wrong with you?_ She shook herself, and turned around in her seat to look behind her. Several strangers met her gaze, and she flinched past each until she found a friendly face. Ryan Pratt raised his eyebrows at her, pointed to himself and mouthed something. Daisy smiled and gave him a thumbs up.

And then she heard the rustling of paper and looked back to find that Hugo had turned his chair around to face her. His eyes scanned the questionnaire. "Merlin, some of these are pretty deep."

For a moment, Daisy could do nothing but blink at him. Finally he looked up and met her gaze. "Here, do you want to have a look?"

"I…" Her eyes shifted past him as he gave her the piece of paper, and landed on Alice at the end of the row. She was staring at them, but as she met Daisy's gaze she turned her shoulder and said something to the girl beside her.

"Aren't we supposed to pair with someone we don't know?" Daisy said at last, with an effort.

Hugo appeared unfazed. "So? I don't know a lot about you."

"There's not much to know," Daisy murmured, and before he could say anything else, she fished in her bag for a quill. "Shall I do the writing, then? First question." She kept her eyes fixed on the paper. "Characteristics of bullying."

"Hmm." Hugo began to list off his fingers. "Deliberate action. Repeated over a period of time. Purpose hostile, intended to provoke or humiliate…"

Daisy nodded as she scribbled down what he had said. "Next question: the difference between bullying and conflict." There was a burst of laughter from nearby, and they both turned to see a freckled second year who had folded the paper into a bishop's hat and placed it on his head.

"Er… let me see." Hugo leaned forward in his seat, propping his chin on one hand as he thought. "If you're arguing with your mate, it's different because… well, because you're mates."

"Because there's trust there." Daisy raised her eyes to his. He nodded.

"Yeah, exactly. Er - next?"

But Daisy crumpled up the questionnaire and shook her head.

"What is it? Do you want me to write instead?"

She leaned back in her chair, scanning the rows of chattering students around them. "No. It's just that it's… ridiculous, all this. I mean, it's not going to _change_ anything."

Hugo was silent. Spurred on, Daisy continued, "Most bullies don't even _know_ they're bullies. It's just what they've always done. And then the ones who know keep doing it because they enjoy it. And the sad thing is - " She paused, pursing her lips.

"What?"

"Well, most kids who bully will grow out of it and just get on with their lives. Become decent people, get a good job and get married and have kids themselves." Bitterness was swelling up inside her now. She pushed it back down as the silence stretched between them, and forced a smile. "Never mind."

Hugo was looking at her strangely. He didn't seem to know what to say. Then he reached out, as students shouted and laughed on all sides of them, and took Daisy's hand. Her fingers were curled into a fist: he prised them apart one by one, and took out the crumpled ball of paper. She looked down at her shoes as he said quietly, "I don't agree. I think stuff like this can make a difference. And even if it doesn't… Well, it's a start."

* * *

The quarters of the Elite Aurors on the third floor consisted of some of the most spacious and draughty chambers in Hogwarts. Unaccustomed to the chill of old castles, many of the Americans had stuffed the arrow slits with fabric and set up a heating system that consisted of floating glass spheres. William Corley felt like he was wading through treacle as he passed down the long stone corridor: his toupée began to itch, and drops of sweat wound down his forehead.

He was relieved to find that Gordon Weiss's office was marginally cooler than the corridor outside. The Auror himself was kneeling before the fireplace with a jar of Floo Powder in his hand. "Mr Corley?" he said, without looking up.

"Chief Auror Weiss. So sorry to intrude." Corley let his gaze stray over the chamber as he paused. It was surprisingly spartan: an iron bedstead, the clothes neatly made, and a hard chair and desk. A pair of old trainers was lined up against the back of the bed. "Did you go for a run today?"

"No. If you run every day, you can do permanent damage to your joints."

"Ah. Fascinating. Fascinating. I knew a fellow once, when I was in school - "

"Mr Corley." Weiss, still kneeling, opened the jar of Floo Powder. "Perhaps we can have this chat some other time. At the moment, I am about to contact the President to give my daily report so I would appreciate some privacy."

Corley smiled when the other man had turned away again. So frank, so specific. The man would never make a politician. "Of course, of course. But first let me apologise for what I said to you the other day. I take it back completely. I mean, this new programme of yours. Fine idea, fine idea. You can see the improvement in the students already."

"Is that so?" Weiss rose to his feet, placing the jar on the mantelpiece, and turned to look at Corley fully. "The President will be glad to hear that. Would you like to tell him about this progress yourself?"

"Oh, no, no," Corley said at once, holding up his hands at once. "No, I won't intrude. I just wanted to make sure you know that you have my respect." He paused. "Man to man, you know."

"I'm honoured, sir," the American said flatly. "In that case, I'd better Floo over now, while Mr Spencer is free to talk."

"Yes, quite. I won't bother you with the other matter now, since you're off duty." Corley folded his hands at his front and made for the door. Smiling to himself, he counted to ten, and then stopped as he heard his name called.

"Mr Corley? What other matter are you referring to?"

William Corley turned, and met Gordon Weiss's gaze. "Theodore Nott will be paying a visit to Hogwarts soon."

It was a peculiar thrill, to see another person's mask drop. Gordon Weiss froze: the colour drained from his face, and he stared at Corley for a long time before either of them spoke, his mouth foolishly agape. At last, words began to emerge, strangled and garbled.

"What - you mean - security threat - Egypt…"

"Yes, he was in Egypt, and now he's here," Corley said pleasantly. "Well, in England, to be more precise. But there is a matter he wishes to take care of, so he will be coming to Hogwarts soon. Don't worry, I'll arrange it all. A tweak here and there, and I should be able to give him a window."

Weiss's broad face had gone from white to red in a matter of seconds. Through gritted teeth, he ground out, "When - will he - "

"Oh, no, I think Theodore and I had better arrange the details ourselves. We're old friends, you see."

"Traitor." Spittle sprayed from Weiss's trembling lips. "You're a traitor to your country. Theodore Nott is a murderer and a Dark Wizard. He must be stopped. He must be killed…"

"No." Corley tilted his head and looked at Weiss kindly. "Think for a moment, Gordon. The British public has put their trust in President Spencer, in _you_ , and in your men. If they were to learn that Theodore Nott has easy access to their children - to the stronghold of Hogwarts: well."

"It would fall on you," Weiss said, his voice hard. He appeared to be regaining some control of himself. "The disgrace would fall on you, and on Geoffrey Alderton's Aurors. They were the ones who let Daphne Greengrass escape their clutches…"

"Theodore Nott," Corley corrected, patiently. "It was _Theodore Nott_ who managed to escape them. Do try to keep up, Gordon. And you can't blame poor Alderton - he just can't match Nott's cunning. You see, Nott is behind it all. It is thanks to him, and thanks to _my_ influence, that you and your colleagues are here in the first place."

Gordon Weiss was silent. His face was blank, but when Corley saw the unmistakable flicker of doubt in his eyes, he had to hold back from smiling. He stepped towards the fireplace, taking his time. "Now, do tell me if I've got this wrong, but President Spencer wishes your squad to remain here in Hogwarts, doesn't he?"

Silence.

"And in order for that to happen, there must be sufficient threat to the students to necessitate your presence. Am I correct?"

Silence.

"Well, what if we could control that threat?" Corley spread his hands, and slowly allowed the smile to form on his face. He lowered his voice, holding Weiss's gaze all the while. " _What if_ we could ensure that, when Nott has outlived his use to us, he is apprehended and arrested in a way which paints your team as heroes?"

"We don't need medals, sir." Weiss's tone was clipped: that old impersonality was returning. "We do our duty. It is President Spencer who will decide - "

" _Then let him decide_." Corley dropped his hands. He had reached the fireplace now, and stood only a few inches away from the Auror. Weiss looked down at him with a mixture of revulsion and wariness. "Tell him what I just told you. Make him aware of the _possibilities_. Theodore Nott can be a useful ally to us, if he is controlled."

"You can't control a madman, sir."

There was a pause. "That is true," Corley said slowly. "But Theodore is not mad. And he, like everyone on this earth, has his weakness."

"What weakness? Sir?" The words were bit out.

"Well, now." William Corley drew back from Weiss, and favoured him with one last smile. "That would be telling." He turned on his heel and left the room. Outside in the corridor, he became aware of his own heart, beating wildly in his chest. His mouth was dry with dread, and his hands shaking with excitement.

As one of the heating spheres drifted past, he looked at his reflection in its glass surface. And for the first time in what must have been years, he saw in his own ravaged face the passionate, virile young man who had set out to conquer the Ministry from the bottom up. He had always loved it: the hunt, the bloodshed, the _thrill_ of it all. Today he might be king: tomorrow, scrabbling on the ground for scraps. But he always pulled himself up again. That was what warriors did.

When he returned to his office, Corley took one glance out at the North Tower courtyard and pulled the heavy curtains. He walked to the empty portrait in the corner of his room and cleared his throat. As a rotund wizard in Wizengamot robes waddled into frame, he said crisply, "Algernon. This is important. I need you to find out everything you can about Theodore Nott."

Corley was a warrior; yes. But he was also a politician. And Nott _did_ have a weakness. He simply didn't know what it was yet.

* * *

It had stuck in Daisy's mind: the memory of the assembly, and her conversation with Hugo. The next day she had her last theory exam, and then, possessed by the irrational urge to burn her books and dance in the flames, she went instead to the memorial garden to think it over. She tramped through the snow, criss-crossed with the footprints of other students, climbed over the stile, and passed into the gorgeous green of summer. She lay on her favourite bench, drew her knees up to her chest and gazed at the blue sky above her.

The sun was bright, but not so bright as to hurt the eyes. Nothing ever hurt her, here in the garden.

For as long as she could remember, her cousin had been an irritating presence, but her figure had never assumed any greater significance than that. Never had Daisy thought of her as a bully. Alice had always been just Alice: inevitable, exhausting, but harmless. Or so she had thought before. Now she cast her mind back to the last few months in Hogwarts: her humiliation at the concert, the disastrous Quidditch party, that very first day on the train… and farther still, to summer. The crowd in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, who had stared at her with pity on their faces. The party in Grimmauld Place to which she was invited, and then promptly uninvited, due to Alice's interference.

That had started it all, hadn't it? Daisy put her hands to her temples, and blinked at the blue sky. How had she not seen it before?

Footsteps, then, intruding on her consciousness. Lu, perhaps, or even Hugo - Daisy sat upright, smoothed her hair, and froze as the very subject of her reflections came striding into the hollow.

"So this is where you always go." Alice Longbottom surveyed the pool, the gently-waving branches, and then flipped a section of dark hair back over her shoulder. Her sugary scent washed over Daisy as she drew near. "Budge up, will you?"

Daisy moved to the very end of the bench, and turned to look at her cousin. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, silly. Why else - "

"I mean," Daisy cut in, "how are you here? The garden's only for people…"

"Who've lost someone. I know." Alice rolled her eyes. "I _have_ been in Hogwarts longer than you, you know, Daisy."

The first ball thrown: playful and quick. Daisy did not throw it back. Finally Alice looked at her out of the corners of her long, blue-grey eyes and said reluctantly, "Gran."

Daisy frowned down at her legs as she kicked back at the bench. "You mean Uncle Neville's Gran…"

"I always called her Gran, too." Alice's voice was sharp: it signalled an end of discussion. Daisy had gotten very adept at noticing those signals. Now she chose to ignore them.

"But you barely knew her: I mean, you were only four when she died…"

"Well, you barely knew your parents, either, did you? You can't even remember them." A pause, then Alice reached out to pat Daisy's hands. "I'm sorry. That was mean. But you shouldn't have said that about Gran."

Daisy kept kicking her legs. One in, one out. Finally, Alice snapped, "Will you stop that?"

Daisy stopped.

"I'm sorry," her cousin said again, "But it's just making me nervous." She paused, pursing her lips, and then said all in a rush, "Daisy, what's going on with you and Hugo?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Eva Walters said she saw you two holding hands in the assembly yesterday."

Daisy reached back and snapped a leaf off the hedge behind her. It was rubbery and new: one surface smooth and shiny. "We weren't holding hands."

"Oh." Alice sounded relieved. "Well, Eva's always making stuff up, anyway. I didn't really believe her, I just thought..." She chattered on, and Daisy carefully split the leaf down the middle with her thumbnail. She ripped both halves in half.

"The thing is, Daisy." Something in the quality of Alice's voice changed, and Daisy snapped back to attention again. "Well, you know I've liked Hugo since - always."

"I didn't know," Daisy lied.

"Oh, come on!" Alice gave a forced laugh. "Just 'cause I wasn't obvious about it! The thing is, Daisy, I _do_ like him. And I know you used to have a little crush - and I _know_ you never meant anything by it, but the thing is, Daisy…"

"What's the thing, Alice?" Daisy turned around on the bench to face her cousin. "What are you trying to say?"

The smile dropped from Alice's lips as she regarded the other girl. "I know you don't mean anything by it," she said again. "I know you like getting him to help you with your homework and stuff like that. I don't blame you!" She gave another laugh. "Hugo's _so_ smart. He really is. But Daisy…" She leaned forward and took her cousin's hand again. Her perfectly manicured nails curved around Daisy's bitten ones. "Daisy, Daisy. It's time to give up."

"Maybe _you_ should give up."

Alice dropped her hand and drew back into icy silence. Finally, "I'm telling you this as a _friend_. Blokes don't like girls who chase after them. And everyone's talking about it, Daisy: you don't know how many times I've stood up for you - "

"What if he likes me, too?"

Her opponent blinked, caught off guard. Her dark eyelashes fluttered. Then she bit out, "He doesn't."

"How do you know?" Daisy raised her eyebrows. A flush was spreading in Alice's cheeks.

"But you said - you said there was nothing going on with you and him…"

"I never said that."

" _Daisy_!" Her cousin's voice rang out in the hollow as she stood up. "We're not finished!"

Daisy Abbott drew in a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. Then she looked down at Alice. "Yes, we are." She stooped until their faces were level again. "And now you've spoiled this place for me." She scattered the broken pieces of leaf over Alice's lap. "Thanks a lot."

Out of the hollow and onto the path, shoes clicking up the bridge, breathing fast. A voice following her, then footsteps. Daisy went faster. She hardly knew where she was going anymore. But as she came out into the snow, the blinding cold hit her face and woke her up, and she smiled.

* * *

"You're quiet."

"Hmm?" Daisy started to turn around, but Hugo caught her arms.

"No, no, it's good. Means you're focused." He let go, moving back a few paces, and Daisy breathed out through her nose. She levelled her gaze at the small concrete block in the centre of the courtyard.

A light snowfall was spinning down overhead, and they were wrapped up in cloaks and scarves. The North Tower courtyard was deserted. Maven Tomgallon had been smoking in the corner a little while ago, but now the caretaker had departed, to Daisy's great relief.

"I can't believe I only have one exam left," she said out loud.

"Ssh. Focus," Hugo said from behind her. Daisy raised her wand again.

" _Wingardium Leviosa_!"

The concrete block shifted until it was balancing on one point, and scraped along the ground with a painful noise. Then it fell on its side again.

"The last week went so quickly." Daisy's gaze strayed to Hugo's hand on her elbow, adjusting her position. "Thanks, I think I'm OK now." She looked up into his eyes, and saw a glimmer of amusement there.

"What's your problem?" he asked, stepping back.

"Well, you're very touchy-feely these days," Daisy said without thinking. Then she clapped her hand over her mouth and started to giggle. She could almost hear Hugo rolling his eyes.

"Come on, let's get this over with."

"No one's forcing you to stay," Daisy said sweetly.

"Why are you in such a good mood? Hmm? It's suspicious - aha!" Hugo clapped his hands together as the concrete block lifted off the ground entirely. Daisy turned to him, beaming, and he grabbed her left wrist, tilting his head so he could check the time on her watch. "OK, now try to move it somewhere."

"Are you serious?" She stared at him.

"What, you want to pass your practical tomorrow, don't you? _Wingardium Leviosa_ 's first-year stuff."

Daisy made a face as she turned away from him again. "But I _am_ kind of a first-year."

"Not anymore. Not with my help." Hugo pointed her arm to the far wall of the courtyard. "Try to aim it around there. Don't go higher, or you'll break one of the windows."

Daisy nodded, but did not raise her wand right away. "Hugo?"

"What?"

"I heard Zane got out of the hospital wing yesterday."

A pause. "Yeah, so?"

"So he could have helped me with this stuff."

Hugo sighed. "Not this again."

"I just want to know…" Daisy swung around to face him, cloak rustling. "Why you're _really_ doing this."

"Why I'm _really_ doing this?" he repeated, eyebrows raised. Under his breath, "Bloody Merlin…"

"Fine, don't tell me." Frowning, she jerked her wand and said again, " _Wingardium Leviosa_!"

The block shot off the ground and into the air. Up, up, through the spinning snowflakes, until it was out of sight. Forgetting herself, Daisy squealed and hugged Hugo. He spluttered as her hair flew in his face. "Steady on."

"I did it! I did it!"

"Yeah, yeah, I can see that, but - oh Merlin. It's coming back."

"What?" Daisy let go of him and looked up at the sky, where she could see a black dot, rapidly increasing in size. Suddenly she was shrieking. "What do I do? What do I do?"

"Cast a counter-spell!" Hugo shouted. " _Finite Incantatem_ or something! Go on!"

" _Fin_ \- what?"

"Oh, for God's sake!"

"I'm doing it, I'm doing it!" Daisy swung her wand in a wild arc, but she was only halfway through the incantation when the concrete block, now bearing down on them, veered off course and smashed into one of the high windows.

Hugo's jaw dropped. He rounded on Daisy as she started to giggle, grabbing her arm. "This isn't _funny_. Let's get out of here, come on!"

"What in blue BLAZES - " a voice bellowed from above as they crossed the courtyard. Hugo looked up automatically, saw the irate red face peering through the shards of the window, and cursed.

"What?" Daisy turned to him as they ran.

"It's William Corley - you had to break _William Bloody Corley's_ window!"

"Is that young Master Weasley I see down there?" the voice called. Hugo came to a reluctant halt, set his jaw, and then looked up.

"Yes, Mr Corley," he called, in tones of forced politeness. "We're - er - awfully sorry about your window."

"Nonsense!" Fury appeared to have changed to amusement in a matter of seconds, and now the politician was chuckling as he leaned out of the window, gesturing to them. "Come up, come up!"

"Jesus Christ," Hugo inhaled, and then he flashed a false smile at the old wizard.

It took them a while to find the right door. They tripped into several abandoned classrooms on the Divination corridor before they came to William Corley's office. He was repairing his broken window when they came in, a white light at the tip of his wand. "As Head of Security, I should report you, you know."

"I - er - hope you won't," said Hugo, after a short pause. Daisy was looking around the place with wide eyes; he followed her gaze, but found nothing out of the ordinary. A couple of framed photographs on the desk, a certificate on the wall, and a crystal decanter on a table in the corner were all that stood out to him. The whole place smelled of cigar smoke, too; he hated cigars. Uncle Charlie was the only person he knew who smoked cigars - James had dared him to take a puff one Christmas in the Burrow. He had been sick all day after.

"There! Doesn't that look good as new?" Corley pocketed his wand with a flourish, turned and gave a grandfatherly chuckle. "For you, Mr Weasley, I'll make an exception. But don't take this as a precedent, mind!"

"Er, thanks," Hugo said, shuffling his feet. He glanced sidelong at Daisy, and jerked his head at the door. "Well, we'd better be… er…"

"And was it yourself or this lovely young lady who fired that missile through the window?" Corley came around the desk to shake Daisy's hand. "Could have done a lot of damage, you know! Still, it didn't, did it? What's your name, dear?"

"We've - er - we've met before," Daisy said, embarrassed.

He was still shaking her hand. His small eyes narrowed as he sized her up, and then his face cleared, and he clapped his other hand on top of hers. "Why, yes, of _course_. You must forgive me, now, I'm terrible with names. My wife always says..."

"Daisy Abbott," Hugo said shortly. "Her name is Daisy Abbott."

"Abbott - ah, yes." Corley nodded smartly, and finally - mercifully - let go of Daisy's hand. "Do sit down, both of you." He moved to the table with the decanter. "Something to drink?"

"Er…" As they took their seats, Hugo widened his eyes at Daisy, who shrugged. "We're - er - we're students."

A clink, and Corley came forward and handed them two glasses. Each held half a shot of what looked like Ogden's. "I shouldn't do this, of course," the older wizard said over his shoulder as he went back to the decanter, "But never mind. Back when I was in school, the professors had no such scruples. Of course, I'm not a professor!" Another chuckle. "I hope your mother's well, Mr Weasley?"

"She's - er - yeah, she's fine." Hugo set his glass down on the desk. He turned and motioned to Daisy to do the same. She was sniffing at her drink, and ignored him.

"I hope she's not overexerting herself. Your mother's dedication to her work is extraordinary."

"Well, she _is_ the Minister for Magic," Hugo couldn't resist saying.

"Yes, and a fine Minister for Magic too, I might add!" Corley tipped his own glass as he moved behind his desk. "To the Minister!"

"To the Minister." Hugo raised his glass and put it down again without drinking.

"To the Minister," Daisy echoed. She sipped, and made a face. Hugo reached over and took the glass off her, ignoring her protests as he set it down beside his. In so doing he looked at Corley, but found that the former Advisor's eye was fixed on Daisy.

"Remind me, Miss Abbott: what do your parents do?"

"My parents are dead," Daisy said at once, and Hugo turned to look at her, surprised. The directness of Corley's question did not seem to have bothered her.

"Mmm-yes. How sad. I _am_ sorry. And what were their names?"

"Cyril and Adela Abbott."

"What lovely names. Quite old-fashioned, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, very old-fashioned," Daisy agreed. At least, she _seemed_ to agree, but there was a flatness to her tone which suggested she had no opinion at all. Hugo frowned down at the ugly carpet: it was purple as a bruise.

"And then Daisy, quite an ordinary name."

"But Daisy's short for Margaret, you see. That's what my parents wanted to call me. At least, that's what I was told, but I was too young to remember when they died."

"And _who_ told you, Miss Abbott, if I may ask?"

"My aunt Hannah, who took me in after they died. She was the one who started calling me Daisy. She preferred it to Margaret." Daisy paused, and blinked, slowly. Something in her expression changed, and she swallowed, and looked down. Watching her with concern, Hugo put a hand on the back of her chair.

Had he seen William Corley's expression in that moment, he would have noticed the mixture of triumph and shock in the wizard's eyes. But Hugo did not look around; he did not drag his eyes away from Daisy's face. "We should be going, Mr Corley," he said forcefully. "Thank you."

"Of course, of course. It was a pleasure talking to you both. I hope you will be attending the Christmas party this evening?" Corley raised his voice as they walked out, but the boy ignored him. He snorted after the door swung closed. Hermione Weasley's son through and through. But the girl was another matter.

She had looked back at him once as they were leaving, and there was certainly something in her expression that reminded him...

"Uncanny," Corley said to himself, and then he patted his waistcoat packet, where he had stowed the vial of Veritaserum. The connection with the name Margaret, too; that was odd. After what Theodore Nott had told him that time... "Extraordinary." He moved across the room to address the man in the portrait. "Algernon, did you hear all that? I need you to find out what you can about Hannah Longbottom. Maiden name Abbott."

* * *

Daisy Abbott had her first inkling that she might be slightly underdressed when the third group of boys in jackets and ties passed the Hufflepuffs on their way to the greenhouse. She turned to the others.

"You look fine," said Tracy Towers before she could say anything.

Ryan Pratt nodded his agreement. "Honestly, Abbott."

"Anyway, it's too late to go back and change now," Meena added helpfully.

Dusk lay over the castle. The snowfall of the afternoon had muffled everything: sights, scents, sounds. Spots of dark cloud splashed the sky as though they had been shaken from a paintbrush. As they approached the greenhouse, the thrum of music reached their ears. Shadows passed along the inside of the windows, talking and laughing.

Maven Tomgallon was standing at the door, and Daisy did her best to ignore his lecherous smile as he checked their tickets. Her attention was soon diverted as they stepped inside, for there was so much to look at. The greenhouse had been expanded in size, and the hazy reflections in the surrounding glass added to the illusion of space. A magnificent tree had been erected in one corner, its shape a perfect triangle. There was no tacky tinsel, no string of lights; instead, tiny glass spheres set into the branches gave off a silvery glow.

Indeed, as Daisy looked around her, she realised that everything was cast in a silver light. The house-elves behind the refreshment tables wore silver neckties; the band players on stage were dressed in silver, and in the four corners of the room stood potted trees with silver leaves.

"Ilvermorny colours," Ryan Pratt said in her ear, and she turned to look up at him.

"Ilvermorny…?"

"The American school." Her fellow Hufflepuff pressed a finger to his lips as a hush fell over the room, and nodded towards the stage. Daisy felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck as she saw William Corley ascending the steps. He was clad in a tailored suit with a red pocket square, and wore around his shoulders a black frilled cape. As he held his wand to his throat, his eyes scanned the crowd, and Daisy instinctively pressed closer to Ryan's side.

"Merry Christmas!" The politician grinned like a mischievous schoolboy to someone just off stage. "Oh dear, that should have been _Happy Holidays_ , shouldn't it?" Laughter from a few people. "Well, since I'm sure you all appreciate what our American friends have put together for us this evening, I'd like to propose a toast to their alma mater, Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." A glass appeared out of nowhere, and he raised it. Suddenly house-elves were weaving their way through the crowd bearing trays of glasses. Ryan snatched two, giving one to Daisy. As the toast was echoed around the room, he took a sip and looked disappointed.

"No alcohol," he told Daisy with distaste. Then, taking another sip, "It's not bad though."

"Take mine, then," she told him, passing her glass. Ryan made no protests. After the exchange in Corley's office that afternoon, she was reluctant to take anything endorsed by that wizard. She glanced over at him, talking with some off-duty Aurors beside the stage. He turned his head in her direction, and she quickly glanced away.

The band on stage resumed playing. Daisy didn't recognise them, but as the first guitar chords rang out, a ripple of appreciation passed through the crowd. Tracy and Meena started cheering, while Ryan mimed gagging. "What's worse than a Mistress Manticore song?" he asked Daisy out of the corner of his mouth. "A _cover_ of a Mistress Manticore song."

"Didn't know you were such a snob," she said, smiling.

"If it's snobby to have good taste, then yeah."

A rustle among the crowd, and for a moment the music dimmed. "Bloody hell," Daisy heard Tracy murmur. "She looks fantastic."

As the door of the greenhouse opened to admit the late guest, all eyes were on Alice Longbottom. Her dark hair was swept up at the back, dark curls sweetly framing her face. Her short white dress cut off just above the knee, but its lace overlay saved it from vulgarity: undertones of silver were brought out by the long draping sleeves and high collar. As she turned to greet Hugo Weasley and Lily Potter, who stood just inside the doorway, Daisy saw that tiny silver stars had been set in her dark hair.

Ryan Pratt stared, his mouth agape. Meena came to Daisy's side, without taking her eyes off the dress, and said kindly, "It's OK. At least you don't look like you're trying too hard."

No, Daisy thought as her roommate moved away again, no one could accuse _her_ of trying too hard. She had not even washed her hair. Her blue cardigan looked dowdy next to the attire of the other girls in attendance, and the yellow hue of her long skirt was particularly unfortunate.

"I need a drink," she said, to no one in particular.

"That can be arranged." Turning, she saw Ryan grinning down at her. A slow smile spread across her face.

"You wouldn't…"

"Well, you're basically seventeen, right?"

"In a month."

"That counts."

Across the room, as Alice Longbottom drifted away to mingle with other students, Hugo turned to Lily and raised his eyebrows. "Wow. She looks… wow."

"Yeah, I know," his cousin said. There was an edge to her voice, and Hugo bit his lip. Hastily, he tried to make amends.

"Of course, you look great too! I just mean…"

"Hugo." Lily silenced him with a look. Then she turned, casting her gaze over the decorations around the room. "They really went all out, didn't they?"

"They did. I hate to admit it, but it's pretty cool."

"You heard about Firenze being released?"

Hugo quickly turned back to his cousin. "Er… yeah."

"We should go see him, while he's still around."

"What do you mean, still around?"

Lily beckoned him closer, whispering in his ear. "I mean Corley. He'll drag Firenze to the Ministry and make sure he never comes back again."

"Mum won't let that happen," Hugo said, drawing back. "She'll make sure he gets a fair trial."

"She mightn't have much choice! Most of the Wizengamot voted Corley in when she was elected, remember? They're on _his_ side."

"I know all this." Hugo sighed. "Can you give it a rest, though? I don't want to talk about politics tonight. Here." He took a canapé and popped it in her mouth. Lily chewed, and swallowed, scowling.

"Fine. But we need to talk to Firenze, soon. And Albus." She paused. "He sent you that mirror for a reason, Hugo, he - Hugo?"

"Just a second," he muttered, watching as a few paces away, Daisy Abbott and Ryan Pratt passed by. They were making for the door, laughing together. Lily punched Hugo's arm.

"C'mon, _focus._ This is important."

"Yeah, fine, fine…"

Outside the greenhouse, Maven Tomgallon jerked up as though he had been dozing. Under his breath, Ryan muttered, " _Confundo_ ," and the caretaker's gaze went blank, sliding past them.

"I can't believe you just did that!" Daisy gasped as they clambered down a snowy embankment, coming to a rest under a cluster of trees when they were out of sight of the greenhouse. The lake stretched out before them. Fairy lights gleamed in its frozen depths that were more than mere reflections.

"You should be thanking me. No Peeping Tom coming after us now. Here." Ryan produced a hipflask and passed it to Daisy. She giggled as she unscrewed the cap. Then through the trees, she heard the murmur of voices. Her smile faded.

"Sounds like some other people had the same idea," Ryan grinned, oblivious to her sudden discomfort. He nudged her. "Go on, are you going to drink?"

Daisy met his gaze and raised the flask to her lips. The liquid burned down her throat, spreading its blaze into her stomach. She took another swig, and then Ryan laughed and took it back from her. He leaned against the nearest tree trunk as he drank. The moon had emerged overhead, so Daisy was able to study his face.

It was a nice face. She didn't know why she had never noticed before. Good teeth, a little stubble, a strong jawline and deep-set blue eyes. As distant music drifted to her ears, and a pleasant fizz came over her senses, as Ryan lowered the flask, wiped his mouth and smiled at her, Daisy had the sudden sense that she was experiencing something profound. Wide avenues were opening up in her mind: a whole world beyond Hugo. Was this moving on?

Ryan was not looking at her, but beyond, towards the lake. Daisy took a step towards him. Snow sank beneath her feet, its moisture seeping into her thin shoes. Even the cold was pleasant: everything was pleasant in this moment -

Crunching footsteps, and Hugo Weasley appeared over the embankment. He was breathing hard, walking fast. Ryan turned towards him, a half-smile forming on his lips. "Want to share, Weasley?"

"No, thank you," Hugo said, ignoring the proffered flask. He turned to Daisy. "It's cold. You should get back inside."

She could do nothing but stare at him.

"What's your problem, Weasley?" Ryan asked, with an edge to his voice.

"My problem is that you're going to get yourselves in a lot of trouble."

"What, are you going to deduct points?"

Hugo set his jaw. "No," he said, even as his voice rose a fraction.

"Then what the hell - "

"Ryan." Daisy met his gaze, and held it. A moment ago, he had been a figure full of possibility, and now he was just her classmate again: her fellow Hufflepuff who wore too much gel in his hair. "It's OK. Let me deal with this."

Ryan looked at her, and finally trooped past them back to the greenhouse, grumbling under his breath. As his footsteps receded, Daisy turned to Hugo. She crossed her arms, and drew herself up to her full height. The blaze was still rushing through her, making her feel bold, brilliant. "What are you doing?"

He was still looking off to the side, where Ryan had disappeared. "You shouldn't be drinking."

"You can't tell me what I should and shouldn't do."

Hugo's eyes moved back to her. "I'm not telling you what to do, I'm just looking out for you, Daisy. You're too young - "

"I'm the same age as you," she interrupted. "Almost."

Hugo was silent.

"Anyway, it's none of your business. I wasn't enjoying the party, so Ryan brought me outside because he's a good friend. He looks out for me. You're just - " She broke off as their eyes met again, and suddenly it was as though something in Hugo's face melted away. She saw through him: she saw a young boy, angry and uncertain.

It was not a profound moment. It was a simple realisation. And Daisy, buoyed by a new confidence, continued, "You're just jealous."

A long pause. And then Hugo tilted his head, bit his lip, and spoke to her in a voice of deadly gentleness. "Jealous of what, Daisy?"

That was all it took to sink her again. He was far away now. She blinked up at him from the depths, and said, haltingly, "Of - of me and Ryan. Because you… you... "

Hugo Weasley closed his eyes for a moment. She counted the seconds. The silence was horrible. Finally, he said, "I don't think of you that way, Daisy."

"Hugo! Hugo!" A voice carried over the embankment. A moment later, Alice appeared. She was smiling, cheeks flushed. A cloak was draped around her shoulders, an enchanting blue. "Come sing happy birthday to Eva! They got her a cake and everything!"

"A cake!" Hugo repeated. He glanced at Daisy. So did Alice, as she drew up next to them. The smile did not shift from her face.

"Sorry, am I interrupting?"

"No," Hugo said hastily, "No, no, you're fine. I was just... on my way back."

"Well, don't you want to come too, Daisy? Come on, it'll be fun."

Daisy's heart was pounding. It was going so fast that she could hear a high whistle in her ears. That surprised her: the fact that she herself could be making that sound, and that only she could hear it. She could not drag her eyes away from Alice: her wide smile, her gorgeous getup. She wanted to tear the silver stars from her hair, push her as though they were children in a playground. Her hands were tingling. She stepped forward.

And slapped Hugo across the face. He took a step backwards, hand on his cheek. Alice cried out in alarm.

"Stay away from me, Hugo Weasley!" Daisy shouted, her voice echoing around the trees. "Stay away from me!"

Half of her expected him to run after her and bring her back, or follow her to the memorial garden. He did neither. When she got to the entrance, she was alone. Daisy hiked up her skirt, climbed over the stile, and let the warm night envelop her.

She dissolved into tears when she reached her bench.

Something shifted in the peace of the memorial garden, and as her sobs finally subsided, Daisy became aware that she was not alone. Slowly, she raised her head from her arms and saw him standing at the other side of the pool, his profile framed against the night sky.

"You're not really here," she breathed.

Theodore Nott turned towards her. He bent, picked up a stone and cast it into the water. Daisy's eyes widened as she watched the ripples spread. She rubbed them, blinking. "Then I'm dreaming."

"No, you're not." Nott regarded her quietly. "Do you think you could feel such things in a dream?"

Slowly, Daisy shook her head. And then, as another wave of tears crashed over her, she hid her face in her arms again. She cried bitterly. His footsteps came over the gravel towards her, slowly. She felt the bench move as he sat at the end of it.

"I can't stay for long," he said, after a time. "But I wanted to see you."

"Enough," she mumbled.

"What was that?"

Daisy lifted her head again. "I said _enough._ I've had enough."

"Enough of what?"

"Of everything. I feel like… like it's all…" She wiped her nose on her sleeve. Her mouth stretched and she began to shake as the next bout of tears hit her. "Like it's all _coming apart_ and I don't even know myself anymore. I'm always wrong about everything. I never - "

"What happened?" he said softly.

Daisy pushed off the bench and stood. She turned her back on him and took a few staggering steps away. "I thought - he liked me. I thought…" Her fingernails dug into her palm. "Never mind. You were right. None of this was real."

"None of it?" Nott repeated.

She blinked away tears, staring up at the sky. "Well, maybe some of it was but - but I don't want it to be like this. I don't want my life to be like this anymore. I'm tired of trying."

"So come away with me."

Daisy's hand came up to her throat, curled into a fist. She swallowed, and did not say anything.

"Give up on this place, and come away with me. I _promise_ you, it's better out there. You have no idea, Daisy. The potential you have - the possibility…"

She spun around to look at him, her eyes wide and eager as something occurred to her. "My magic _is_ getting better. These past few weeks I've been able to do things I never could before. So maybe it is real? Maybe - what?"

Nott was looking at her sadly. He was not wearing glasses, which gave his face an odd nakedness. "Come here, Daisy."

"Why?"

"Just… come here."

He was still sitting on the bench, long legs crossed in front of him. His trousers were slightly too short, leaving his ankles exposed. Daisy took a few halting steps forward, until she was within arm's length of him. He reached out, turned over her left wrist, and unstrapped the silver watch.

"I gave this back to you," he said, holding it up. "Do you remember? Before I left you, at the lake. This is what I wanted to tell you. It's a talisman, Daisy."

She stared at him uncomprehendingly. Nott looked down, turning the watch over in his hand. "In the days before wands were invented, wizards and witches used to harness magic in other ways. Using special objects, or talismans. Back when I was still in school, I discovered an old spell that could transfer a portion of your magic into a talisman. That way anyone could use it."

The Defence practical… Her successful transfiguration in the library… practising in the courtyard with Hugo… "You mean… none of that was me?"

Nott shook his head.

Daisy's knees buckled beneath her. She covered her face with her hands, shaking her head.

"Daisy… Daisy…"

Everything inside her was crumpling, deflating.

"Daisy, I'm sorry." Theodore Nott's voice became clearer as he moved closer to her. "But I wanted you to have a chance: to see what it might be like." As Daisy burrowed deeper into herself, she felt him reach out and stroke her hair.

Dusty piano notes were playing in her mind. Perhaps she was going mad. Daisy dropped her hands from her face and looked at him. His face blurred before her eyes. "I found your Bach."

Nott blinked. He dropped his hand. "What?"

"The Bach piece you wrote down. From when you were in school." Daisy wiped her eyes and smiled through her tears. "You never told me. That you like that kind of music."

Nott's eyes grew distant, as though he were looking at something else. "I used to… a long time ago." He looked back at her as she began to hum under her breath. "That's… that's it. That's the Prelude."

"I can play it, too."

A long silence stretched between them. Nott rose to his feet, and so did Daisy. He tilted his head, considering her. "We're alike, Daisy. Even more alike than I thought."

She did not look away from him. She did not flinch.

"You know why that is, don't you? You believe it now?"

Slowly, she nodded. Nott reached out and put a hand to her shoulder. His eyes glittered. "You're my daughter. And you were born to wield magic. You were born for better things than this place." A pause. "I can help you. Will you let me help you, Daisy?"

She swallowed, trembling. "Yes."

"Good," said her father. "But there's something I need you to do first."

* * *

Hugo Weasley stepped into his dormitory, one hand to his smarting cheek. All the beds were empty, rumpled sheets trailing on the floor. The other boys were still at the party. For him, it had lost something of its flavour after he was slapped. Alice had tried to persuade him to stay, of course. But even looking as she did tonight…

He strode to his bed, rummaged beneath it and pulled out the package. He tore the wrapping paper and threw it away. Then he looked down into the mirror. "Albus!" he called. "Albus, are you there?"

It seemed an impossible length of time before his own scowling face in the mirror was replaced by his cousin's. In the background he could see the lit environs of the kitchen in Grimmauld Place. Albus squinted out at him. "That you, Hugo? I can barely see you!"

Hugo picked up his wand and pointed it at the light switch. "Better?"

"Yeah, much better." His cousin's green eyes were eager as he pushed up his glasses. "So what's new?"

"There's no easy way to say this," Hugo said bluntly, "So I won't try. The Resurrection Stone has to be destroyed, Al. It's the only way to close the portal in the Forest for good."

Albus blinked at him. His face swam out of view as he set down the mirror. Hugo heard him sigh heavily.

"Al?"

"Still here. Just… thinking."

Beneath his foul mood, Hugo felt a twinge of guilt. "I'm sorry, Al."

His cousin picked up the mirror again, and their gazes met.

"OK," Albus Potter said to Hugo Weasley. There was only the slightest tremor to his voice. "How are we going to do this?"

* * *

The voices had been calling to him for some time now. They seeped into his consciousness, reaching cold hands towards him. So Firenze the centaur left the castle when the sun set. He came to the lit windows of the greenhouse, the sounds of revelry piercing the night, and passed the caretaker unseen.

When the dark trees of the Forbidden Forest closed over his head, he broke into a gallop. He did not stop until he came to a hollowed-out tree at the edge of a moonlit clearing. Firenze leaned down and drew out a sage leaf he had hidden there. Clicking his fingers, he summoned a small, yellow flame, and held it to the sage.

The leaf caught fire quickly. Still he held it, even as his fingers began to cry out in agony. The sharp aroma filled his nostrils. Firenze's eyes clouded over as smoke rose before him and formed itself into a shape. A centaur lying on his side.

He dropped the leaf, gasping as he nursed his burnt fingers to his chest. The smoke dissipated, but the image lingered before his eyes.

It was as he had feared.

* * *

 **Music:**

"The Scavenger" - John Williams, Star Wars soundtrack

"A Duet for Three" - Max Richter, Testament of Youth soundtrack

"Fireworks" - First Aid Kit

"Proust" - Harry Rabinowitz, The Talented Mr Ripley soundtrack


	14. Stay

**Author's Note:**

Hey everyone! I don't know how many people are still reading this but I apologise for the long wait. I have about eight more chapters planned and the completion date is getting further and further away. So... what can I tell ya. I have a new job writing which has pushed this story back a bit on my list.

And because of the delay, you now have a kind of Christmassy chapter in the middle of January. My sincerest and most humble apologies. It's also very long... I'm not really selling this, am I?

Anyways, let's go :)

* * *

 **Recap:**

Lysander Scamander was killed in Alexandria by Theodore Nott, under the assumed name of George Ripley.

Minister Hermione Weasley has secretly lost her magic.

Hugo Weasley tells Albus Potter it is time to destroy Resurrection Stone. He also rejects Daisy at the Christmas party organised in honour of the Elite Aurors, and she swears that this time she is done with him.

Rose and Scorpius broke up over an argument about his father, and secrets. Rose subsequently began training at St Mungo's Hospital, and had Scorpius's grandfather Lucius as a patient before he died. She and Scorpius agree to be friends.

Professor Firenze is arrested on charges of dangerous magical narcotics, and then released, in a power-play between former Advisor William Corley and the Squad of Elite Aurors under President Spencer of MACUSA. In a bid to regain control of the school - and the country - Corley tells Spencer and Squad that he knows Theodore Nott's weakness.

Now reunited with his long-lost daughter, Theodore Nott promises Daisy that he can give her a better life outside Hogwarts - but first she must do something for him. She agrees.

 **In Love and Glory:**

Hermione was poisoned at her niece Victoire's wedding at the start of Rose's sixth year, and took months to recover in St Mungo's.

Scorpius Malfoy was nearly killed by his father in a case of mistaken identity, but Rose's Healing powers brought him back to life.

* * *

 **Chapter 12: Stay**

It was snowing when she landed at Heathrow Airport. She looked up when she got to the bottom of the steps and saw flakes spinning down through the dark. Then she heard rolling wheels and grumbling voices behind her and moved on.

Several flights were grounded when she passed through Departures, and small families were huddled everywhere, some talking amongst themselves, some shouting at airport officials, while the times on the screens overhead kept changing.

There was no one to meet her. She had not told her parents she would be coming back. Perhaps she would see them, perhaps not. There was no telling how long this visit would be. She shifted her carry-on to her other shoulder and stepped out through the automatic doors.

A wave of cold air struck her face, and the world started spinning. The line of waiting taxis tipped and wavered in her line of sight. Suddenly her head was ringing, and her pulse throbbed in her ears.

"Are you all right?" a taxi-driver got out of his car and approached her, as the pavement loomed alarmingly close.

"I'm fine," Nina Meyer snapped, waving him off. "Just jetlagged. Can you take me to Charing Cross Road?"

* * *

Daisy Abbott never got up early unless she had a good reason. Unfortunately, today was one of those days. And that was not just because in a few short hours, the Hogwarts Express would be taking students home for Christmas. Her trunk sat at the foot of her bed, parts of it untouched from the start of term, strewn with jeans and skirts. She tied back her hair and quickly dressed in her school robes, while her roommates shifted and grumbled in their beds.

Outside the Hufflepuff common rooms, the cold was unbearable. She rubbed her arms as she hurried down the corridor. When she saw the guard standing at the door of the Entrance Hall, she cursed under her breath, backed up behind a corner and fumbled for her wand.

Only a day ago, she had been so proud of her growing skills in magic. Hugo had been so pleased, too, when he had come to tutor her, in the library and in the courtyard... Daisy shut her eyes for a moment. Wherever Hugo Weasley entered in her mind, he was quickly followed by a haze of pain and anger. She could not think about him now.

The silver watch had left marks on her wrist, for she had worn it overnight. Daisy felt tempted to rip it off altogether, and throw it away. It was the only reason her magic had been improving over the past few weeks. With it, she had begun to feel some measure of control. But it had all been a lie.

Daisy peered around the corner again to see that the guard was still there. But no one else appeared to be up. Perhaps he would not even be there, in the garden, as Nott had said he would be - but there was no time to think about that now.

She took out her wand, keeping hold of her talisman with her free hand as she cast an incantation that she had only ever read printed on textbooks before. All she could manage to produce was a bunch of drooping lilies. It would have to do. Daisy steadied the bouquet in her hand and walked forward.

The Elite Auror on guard at the doors of the Entrance Hall looked forbidding, but let her pass when he saw her sad face and sad flowers. Hardly able to believe that she had done it, Daisy walked out into the grounds, where snow was drifting down through the thinning dark. Within minutes, her fingers were blue at the tips, and she tucked them under her armpits. Her feet became heavier with each step. She told herself it was just the cold. She told herself that she wanted to do this, because he had asked her to, and anyway it might make a difference, and of _course_ he didn't want to hurt anyone. She knew that.

It was still dark in the memorial garden, too, though the light was growing by the minute. The air was hazy and warm.

He was kneeling before a flowerbed. Daisy didn't read the name on the plaque beside it. He was talking under his breath. She did not listen to what he was saying. She raised her wand.

Her Stunning spell was feeble, but it made him crumple to the ground all the same. On the way down, his forehead struck the edge of the plaque. She had rushed forward to catch him, but was too late to prevent that.

Daisy worked quickly, wincing as she pulled blond hairs from his scalp. When she got a handful, she wrapped them in a handkerchief, tucked the handkerchief in her pocket. As she was manoeuvring the librarian into a sitting position, she saw the whites of his eyes roll up under his lids. The spell was wearing off. She dropped him and ran.

Nothing, she thought as she passed the spot where she and Tobias had planted the new tree for his father, their fingers digging in the soil. Nothing, she thought as she hurried over the footbridge where she and Hugo had stood after that horrendous concert. Nothing, she thought as she passed the spot where she had seen Lucinda mourning her brother. Nothing, nothing, nothing. She felt nothing. What would happen if she kept running forever? Would she still feel nothing?

Unfortunately, the memorial garden did not stretch on forever, so she could not find out. And just outside the stile, where winter reigned once more, and where morning was breaking over the grounds of Hogwarts, she found the Elite Auror waiting for her.

His face was grim.

"Come with me, ma'am."

* * *

Hugo Weasley knew he wasn't dreaming, because his eyes were open and he was sitting up in bed, watching the doorknob turn slowly. His other roommates were asleep. Slowly, slowly, it turned. He heard the hinges creak. When the dormitory door opened at last, someone was standing there on the threshold, his figure outlined in the light of the landing.

"Please... please," Hugo tried to say, but his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, and it seemed the only sound he could make was a mumble. He could not move, either; he could not shrink away as the intruder stepped into the room, his features becoming clearer and clearer by the second. He looked angry.

Hugo wanted to stand, to meet him face to face. But the bedclothes knotted around him, trapping him. In desperation, he threw out a hand and knocked everything off his dresser, as though to create a barrier between them. A wand, a watch, a Sneakoscope, a glass of water - all tumbled to the floor with a crash. But still the intruder kept coming. Hugo opened his mouth again, to try to speak to him, but there was smoke in his lungs and he choked on it, rasping and coughing as the man towered over his bed. No one could hear him; no one would wake up in time to help him - if only he could say something -

Darkness, then air rushed into his lungs as Hugo opened his eyes again. There was light outside on the landing, just as there had been a moment ago, but his dormitory door was closed now. He looked at his dresser, and nothing had fallen from it. A dream, after all. Someone was snoring in one of the other beds.

He got up, threw on a Tshirt and tracksuit bottoms, and went downstairs to the empty common room. He sat in the dark by the window, and looked out.

* * *

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was closed, though several hopeful customers had tried the door before continuing on their way. Dawn had broken over Diagon Alley, and normally George Weasley would be setting up displays, and assigning duties to his employees. But today none of them were coming in. Today was different.

He stood behind the counter and stared at the smooth black stone on the counter. Beside it was a crudely drawn map. George shook his head. It had been more than twenty years, but he could still remember the way he had felt when Fred had appeared before him in the Forbidden Forest. Such a strange mixture of hope and fear had seized him; after trying to live life without his twin, he had been able to picture a world with him in it once more.

A dangerous thing.

The lock clicked, and the bell above the shop door tinkled as Harry Potter entered. He was wearing a thick cloak, under which the purple hem of his Wizengamot robes showed through. He raised his eyebrows at George as he approached the counter at a quick pace. "Well? I'm assuming this is important. Firenze's hearing is today, and I want to be in the courtroom before William Corley gets there - "

"It _is_ important," George said slowly. "And I can tell you now that Firenze isn't going to be there."

"What are you talking about? He has to be there. He - " Harry broke off as he saw what was on the counter in front of George. He went pale, his eyes flicking from the Resurrection Stone to the map of the Forbidden Forest. "What in Merlin's name - "

"Your children are planning something," George Weasley told him. "I thought I'd better let you know."

* * *

This was the moment. She was done for, she had it to be. So why couldn't she feel anything? Daisy Abbott followed silent behind the American Auror as he led her through the Quad. Every now and then she shivered, but the involuntary movement did little to pierce the strange calm that enwrapped her.

The Auror stopped at the end of the Quad, outside a door she had never noticed before, and pushed. It gave way with a resounding creak, and they came into the Great Hall. The Auror shook a green curtain over the door, and they walked on past the empty Gryffindor table, skirting around house-elves cleaning up from breakfast. They climbed the steps to the staff table, crossed to another mysterious door, and it was here that the Auror turned on his heel and left her without a word.

Alone, Daisy looked after his retreating figure for a moment. Then she looked back at the door. She knocked.

"Come in," came an unmistakable voice.

At first when she stepped into the room, she thought she was surrounded by people. Many pairs of eyes were on her, and many murmuring voices filled her ears. A moment later, she realised that they were portraits. Then something else forced her attention: the small man standing before the empty fireplace, his veiny hands folded behind his back.

"Miss Abbott," said William Corley, without turning. "Thank you for coming."

Daisy blinked in slow surprise. "Of - of course."

"I was most intrigued by our conversation yesterday. I was so intrigued that I am afraid I must confess something." The politician turned to face her, and there was that old ingratiating smile on his red face again. "I had a friend look into your family history." He held up his hands. "I know, I know, it wasn't very fair of me, was it? To use my connections. But I'm afraid in this case, Miss Abbott, it was necessary."

Daisy watched as Corley took one step towards her, then another. He reached up to one of the portraits and drew a length of parchment out of thin air. "Thank you, Algernon." The parchment was yellowed with age. "Do you know what this is, Miss Abbott?"

She shook her head. He passed it to her, and she read the writing on it. Her heart squeezed in her chest.

"A certificate of adoption," Corley pronounced calmly. "Signed by Cyril and Adela Abbott. Did you know you were adopted, Miss Abbott?"

She began to tremble. "The fascinating thing," continued the politician without waiting for her answer, "is that _nowhere_ could I find a certificate of birth. It was almost as though someone had destroyed it. Can you think of someone who might have done that, Miss Abbott?"

She had no thoughts: her mind was a blank page.

"Your birth mother, perhaps? Hannah Longbottom? Of course, at that time she would have gone by her maiden name, Abbott, is that correct?"

Daisy drew in a gulping breath and nodded.

"Fascinating," Corley repeated. "And when is your birthday?"

"January." The single word was so quiet that she didn't know if he would hear her.

"And you will be seventeen, yes?"

"Yes."

"And Alice Longbottom? When is her birthday?"

"July."

"And what age..."

"She'll be sixteen."

"How interesting. I _am_ sorry to be asking all of these questions - you must think me mad..." The clock on the mantelpiece began to chime. Corley turned towards it. "My goodness: look at the time. You had better go get packing. We don't want you to miss your train, now do we, Miss Abbott?"

She felt weak, dizzy. There was no murmuring now: the portraits had gone silent. "Do we?" Corley repeated, in a voice that was hard and cold as ice. "Miss Abbott?"

"No," she whispered.

"Then I will just ask you one more question." Out of the pocket of his voluminous robes, Corley produced his wand. He waved it, and a concrete block materialised in the air between them. "You remember this, I'm sure? You were with Mr Weasley when you fired it into the window of my office."

"It was an accident," Daisy protested, finding her voice again at last. "I didn't mean to..."

"Oh, I know, my dear girl, I _know_! I wouldn't suspect you for a moment of any wrongdoing. That is why I know that you will answer me truthfully when I ask if the spell you used on this block was cast with a wand?"

"I - I thought it was," she said stupidly.

"That is _not_ what I asked."

"No," she mouthed.

"Beg your pardon?"

" _No_. It wasn't." Her knees gave way beneath her, and struck the stone ground hard.

"Oh dear. Oh dear." A foreign hand on her shoulder, mechanically patting. "I _am_ sorry for upsetting you so, Miss Abbott. There, there, now. There, there."

Daisy wanted him to get away from her: this ugly man with his foul breath and foul words. With a shaking hand, she unstrapped the silver watch from her wrist and held it out. "It was this," she said, her voice muffled through her fingers. "It's a talisman. You can use its stored magic..."

"Stolen magic, you mean?" The watch was yanked from her hand with such force that Daisy reeled in shock. She saw Corley striding away from her, swinging his wand in a wide arc around him. The watching faces in the surrounding portraits froze. Their eyes became glassy, like those of stuffed animals.

Daisy was still on her knees. She cowered as Corley turned around and came back for her. "You can stop crying now." He knelt down to bring their faces level. "I know everything. I know that your father is the most wanted man in the wizarding world. I know that you stole magic to get yourself a place at Hogwarts."

Her heart thudded in her chest. She had felt afraid before in her life, but never like this: never like a hunted animal. "Please..."

"Get up." Corley straightened, and jerked his head as though she were a dog. "Come on." She stood. He put a firm, steadying hand to her shoulder. "Pull yourself together. There you are. Now, there's no need to get so upset. I never said I would tell anyone else, did I, silly child? If you do exactly as I say, you'll have nothing to worry about."

"What..." Her throat ached: her voice was raw and hoarse. "What do you want me to do?"

Corley held out a hand, and after a moment, she took from it the watch he had torn from her wrist. There was a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye as someone stirred in one of the portraits. The spell was wearing off. William Corley glanced towards it, too, and then back at her. "You know the Weasley boy quite well, don't you, girl? At least, that was my impression after our meeting yesterday."

"I..."

"No need to talk, now. No need to answer back. I know you will do this for me because you have no choice." He spoke more and more quickly, until Daisy could barely take in what he was saying. "Hermione Weasley is hiding something. I want you to find out what it is."

* * *

When the last stragglers had finally left the common rooms of Hogwarts, when the last carriages had rolled away over the gravel and out the castle gates, and when the distant whistle of the Hogwarts Express had sounded in the air, Hugo Weasley closed the window of his dormitory and turned to face his two cousins. "Right. Let's go over the plan again."

"I have a few... questions," said Lily Potter, who was sitting cross-legged on Stephen McCubbin's bed.

"So do I," said Albus, who was leaning against the bathroom door.

"Questions can wait," said Hugo. "Now, Firenze is meeting us in the memorial garden in half an hour. He - "

"That's my first question," Albus interrupted. "Why make him miss his hearing? Why not do all of this after it's finished?"

Hugo tried to conceal his impatience. "Because William Corley is going to the hearing. And he'll be taking a good chunk of the Elite Squad with him, which gives us a window to get everything done. Anyway, Firenze volunteered."

"And what happens when he doesn't show up at the Ministry, and the Aurors and Corley come back here to track him down?" Lily said, biting her lip.

"That's why we're meeting him in the memorial garden. It's the only part of the grounds where we won't be detected. Aurors can't enter, because the only people with access to it are those who are mourning loved ones."

"I don't know," Albus persisted. "There must be security measures in place in the memorial garden, in case a student breaks school rules."

"Well, we're hardly breaking school rules, are we?" Hugo said. "You're not even a student."

"But _you two_ are," Albus retorted, with some of his old Head Boy sternness. "Neville might have believed all that about the Transfiguration project you had to finish, but don't expect them to believe it at home. When they find out - "

"With any luck, it'll all be over by then. And we'll be back in Godric's Hollow for Christmas." There was a moment's pause, during which Hugo looked out the window at the grounds. It was snowing again, the flakes whirling past the glass. He hoped it would stop soon.

Lily cleared her throat. "Don't you think this is a little... I don't know."

"A little what?" Hugo turned back to look at her.

"A little sudden?"

"You were the one who kept telling me to talk to Firenze, to fix this problem."

"Yeah, I know, but I would have liked more time to plan..."

"There _isn't_ any time." Hugo threw up his hands. "Firenze says the problem in the Forest is only getting worse. If his herd is driven out any further by these shadow creatures, they'll be on school grounds." He glanced from Lily to Albus. "I'm just doing what you lot have been telling me to do for months. I'm helping."

"I know that," Lily said again, looking down at the bedspread as though it were particularly interesting, "But aren't you a little worried? About what will happen if we can't close the portal? What will happen to - _him_?"

This time it was Albus who spoke. "Wherever James is, he must be at peace. He's got nothing to do with the portal, or the Resurrection Stone, or the shadows Hugo saw in the Forest."

"You don't know that - "

"Listen," Hugo interrupted. "We've thought things through." Smoke, choking his lungs only a few hours before, and an angry face looming over his - but he could not think about that now. "We have a good plan. We meet Firenze, we wait in the memorial garden for Uncle George to get here with the Deathly Hallows, we go into the Forest, destroy them and seal the portal once and for all. We stick together, and keep a strong defence."

"This isn't a Quidditch match, Hugo." Lily Potter rose from the bed and moved for the door without looking at them. "We should head for the garden soon. I'll go check if the coast is clear."

When she had left, Hugo took a few paces to his own bed and sat down heavily. He blew out his breath, and shook his head.

"She's just finding this hard," Albus said quietly, seeing his uncertain face. "The idea of saying goodbye..."

 _We already said goodbye_. _We said goodbye two years ago._ But Hugo did not say any of that. He just lay back on his bed until he was staring up at the top of his four-poster. He breathed in, and out, and finally he said,

"Let's go over the plan again."

* * *

Packing shelves in Flourish and Blotts was a strange exercise in nostalgia.

Most people would not have been nostalgic about their old textbooks, of course, but then Scorpius Malfoy was not most people. Every now and then he came upon titles that sent jolts of recognition through him - titles like _Alchemy, Ancient Art and Science_ , or _The Great Unwashed: Urg the Unclean and the Second Goblin Rebellion_. Carlos Santini found his excitement upon these discoveries hilarious, of course - Santini seemed to spend more time laughing at him that morning than doing any of his actual work. Still, Scorpius couldn't complain, since Santini had gotten him this job in the first place.

It was certainly a step down from working in Wright's Metal Charmers - a step away from what he actually wanted to do, but then again, did he really want to work under a Corley supporter? One who hated Rose, and whom Rose hated, no less? Then again, Rose's opinions weren't supposed to matter to him anymore...

"Look!" he couldn't help saying, as Carlos was passing by below his ladder. " _Quintessence: A Quest_! I read this all the time in sixth year."

"Hmm," said Santini. "Do you know what I was doing in sixth year, Malfoy?" He paused, letting a couple of customers walk past him before he carried on, "Shagging girls."

"Shagging Lily Potter, you mean?" Scorpius said as he hopped down from the ladder, clutching the Charms textbook.

Carlos Santini went still, and when he turned back to Scorpius, all the humour had vanished from his expression. "Careful, Malfoy. Remember, I'm still your boss."

"I'm sorry," Scorpius said, unable to help a smirk. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"Malfoy, I swear - "

"Some things never change."

The two wizards turned at once, and saw a witch lounging by the travel books. She had a long dragonhide jacket, and her black hair was short as a boy's: her face was thinner and her eyes wearier, but Scorpius would have known her anywhere -

"Nina!"

She sketched a bow. "Two years since we left school, and you two are still bickering."

"How did you know where to find me?" Scorpius exclaimed.

"I asked at the Leaky Cauldron. Have to say I was a little surprised to hear you're working here."

"Good to see you and all, Meyer," said Santini, with a pointed look at Scorpius, "but we have lots to do."

"Ignore him," said Scorpius, as Santini moved away towards the staircase, stopping to speak to various customers on his way. "Being manager has gone to his head. Oh, come here, will you?"

With a reluctant sigh, his old classmate allowed herself to be drawn in for a hug. She smelled of dust and sweat. Scorpius pulled away and held her at arm's length, surveying her carefully. "You look tired."

"A five-hour flight will do that to you." She brushed him off. "Besides, I'm still on Egyptian time."

"I thought you were in Athens."

"I was in a lot of places." She looked at him through half-lidded eyes, her mouth set in a thin line. "I'm on my way to the bank."

Scorpius frowned, glanced around to check that Santini was gone, and then took her arm. "Here, I'll walk you there. I've a break coming up."

The snow had stopped earlier that morning, and most of it was melted in sludge on the cobbles of Diagon Alley. The sun had come out in earnest, and the air was milder than it had been in weeks. Still, Nina blew on her hands and shivered. Scorpius gave her a sidelong glance every now and then, as they made their way towards Gringotts.

"Why did you come back?" he said, when they had been walking for a few minutes in silence.

"Job was finished," she said tersely.

"Nina..."

"I was sorry to hear about your grandfather."

"Oh." Scorpius looked down at the ground. "How did you..."

"Rose keeps in touch. More than I can say for you."

He hunched his shoulders, now conscious of her gaze on him. "So then you know about..."

"About you two? Yes, I know. Idiots, both of you." Nina blew out her breath. "All this stuff going on - all this stuff you've been through together, and you just give up?"

"Take this. Go on, you're freezing." Scorpius shrugged off his jacket and passed it to her. He watched as she pulled it around herself without even protesting. "What's wrong with you?"

"I'm just used to warmer weather," she said, annoyed. "I was in Egypt, remember?"

"But you were supposed to be Curse-Breaking in Athens!" Scorpius shook his head as though to clear it. "I don't get it, Nina, what happened?"

"Bloody hell, Malfoy! I don't remember you being this nosy!"

"Well, why did you call at my shop if you didn't want to have a conversation?"

"I - " Nina stopped short, fixing him with a wide-eyed glare instead. They had come to a halt now, across the street from Gringotts. "Not here, OK?" She pointed towards the white steps. "I'll be going now."

"Am I getting my jacket back?" Scorpius called after her as she crossed the street. She turned, walking backwards, and said,

"Maybe. If you meet me at the Leaky Cauldron later."

* * *

The last time Hugo had been in the memorial garden was on the night of the concert. He had followed Daisy. They had stood together on the same footbridge over which he now walked with Lily and Albus Potter by his side. But it had been different then, somehow. The place was still as warm as ever - they had to carry their thick cloaks over their arms - and the colours as fresh and vibrant as before, but there was something...

It was Albus who first noticed. "Is it always as quiet as this?"

Hugo cast his mind back again. Leaning on the bridge with Daisy, the light of the sun in her hair, the shine of tear tracks on her cheeks: why were those the only things he could remember now? "I don't know," he said shortly.

"I don't like it," said Lily, with the smallest of shudders.

They walked for some time in silence until the path before them began to slope upwards, the hedges falling away around them to reveal a maze of neat lawns, flowerbeds and pools that stretched away as far the eye could see. Hugo gave a low whistle. "This place is bigger than I thought." He shaded his eyes with one hand, and pointed to a nearby gazebo, whose glass doors reflected sunlight so bright that it was difficult to see inside. "That's where Firenze said he'd meet us." He turned back, but the two Potter siblings were frowning. "What's wrong?"

"This garden can't be that big," said Albus, pointing to the view stretched out before them. "How many Impervius Charms would you need to keep out the snow? How many protective enchantments, extension spells - it's not possible."

"Well..." Hugo began, with a shrug, but Lily broke in,

"You go ahead and meet Firenze. We'll keep walking, see what's at the end of this path."

"See if the whole thing really is protected," Albus added, significantly.

Hugo glanced at the gazebo again and said reluctantly, "OK. Be careful."

They split up, Albus and Lily continuing along the path, their voices drifting away until Hugo could not hear them any more. All he could hear were his own feet crunching over gravel as he walked up the path to the gazebo. The reflected light grew stronger the nearer he came, and he felt beads of sweat form on his forehead. Then the distinct smell of burning herbs reached his nostrils, and as he put a hand to the glass door, a familiar voice greeted him from inside, melodious and smooth.

"Mr Weasley. Come in."

Warily, Hugo stepped into the gazebo. The first thing that struck him was how warm and dry the air was - the second was that there was grass beneath his feet, and the third - that the whole space was filled with a sweet smoke which filled his lungs and set his whole body on alert. He started to cough, backing away towards the door, until Firenze's voice stopped him.

"Mr Weasley? Are you not here to help me?"

"Help you?" Hugo repeated, hoarsely. "You're the one who's supposed to be helping us." He coughed again, and put a hand to the door. "I can't stay in here - I can't - _cough_ \- breathe..."

"So clear the air," came Firenze's calm voice, and Hugo blinked in surprise. He fumbled for his wand, feeling foolish.

 _Are you a wizard, or aren't you_?

When he said the words and Vanished the smoke, he saw that the space of the gazebo had been converted into what looked like a small clearing. He had seen Firenze change his classroom like that before, back in third year. But he had forgotten: how real it felt. If not for the glass walls beyond the shadows of trees, he might have thought they were in the middle of the Forest.

Hugo watched Firenze sprinkle burnt herbs in a circle around him. At last, when it became clear that the centaur was not going to initiate the conversation, he asked, "What are you doing? Some kind of Elemental spell?"

"Correct, Mr Weasley," said the centaur, pausing. He splayed his hand, and Hugo's eyes widened as drops appeared in the air, forming a suspended orb which rippled and shone as it dipped within the circle. Next he felt a faint breeze blow past him, which scattered the herbs everywhere and sent a shiver through the orb.

"What - "

"All four elements must be present for the circle to form," Firenze said, with that odd look in his eyes which Hugo had seen before. People did not usually look at him like that: as though they expected him to be something more than what he was.

He took out his wand, squinted in concentration, and jumped back, alarmed, at the blue flare which emerged from its tip. Hugo conjured a white candle, lit it, and floated it to the centre of the circle, where it came down to rest on the ground. The wind calmed; the herbs formed themselves into a circle once more, and the orb of water stilled.

"Thank you, Mr Weasley," said Firenze, calmly.

"Is this the same spell you're going to use in the Forest?" Hugo said doubtfully, after another moment's pause had elapsed. "To destroy the Resurrection Stone?"

The centaur nodded.

"But if there really is a portal in the Forest, will Elemental magic be enough to close it?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not. I would not dismiss this power so soon if I were you, Mr Weasley. The act of resurrection is an affront to nature. The only thing which can counteract it is that most natural and ancient of magics."

"But why..." Hugo began, before stopping short. He watched the centaur's impassive face for a moment, and then said, more quietly, "Can I ask you something?"

"Certainly, Mr Weasley."

"Why did you agree to help us?"

Firenze looked up slowly, faint surprise registering in his blue eyes. "I have told you before that the shadow in the Forest is of my own making. Are my reasons for helping to seal it not clear, Mr Weasley?"

"Y-yes," said Hugo, "But you're missing your hearing today."

"Such things are not important." The centaur returned his gaze to the circle before him.

"Have you..." Hugo stopped, rubbing his neck with one hand. At last, lowering his voice as though he were afraid someone was listening. "Have you had a vision? Of what will happen?"

Firenze stiffened. Then he smiled. "I thought you did not believe in my visions, Mr Weasley."

"I don't, but..." The words began to rush out of him. "That time in the Forbidden Forest, you told me Daisy was in danger. You saw it, somehow. So - what have you _seen_ lately?"

The centaur was silent for a moment. Then, "Visions are like dreams."

"Dreams?" Hugo felt a chill run down his spine, though he tried to keep his expression neutral.

"Sometimes, their meaning might be displaced, and it takes careful interpretation to find it." He fixed his steady gaze on Hugo. "My vision showed me one of my people, dead. What do _you_ think that means?"

"Er..." Hugo frowned as he thought. "That the centaurs in the Forest will be killed if the portal isn't closed?"

"That may be true," Firenze said slowly. "However..." He stopped, and went very still, as though he were listening to something.

After a moment, Hugo heard it too: a faint rumbling in the distance, like thunder. He stared at Firenze. "What's happening?"

The centaur's face was grave. "I'm afraid I don't know.

"I'd better go find the others," said Hugo. He glanced uncertainly at Firenze before pushing out through the door of the gazebo. Outside, he ran into Albus and Lily on the path. They were both pale. "Well? Anything?"

"Nothing," Albus replied.

"The path just led us around in a circle." Lily kept glancing over her shoulder. "We ended up back by the entrance."

"But how?" Hugo frowned. "Did you hear the thunder?"

"That's the least of our worries," said Albus Potter grimly, and at his cousin's questioning gaze, he said, "Uncle George just got here. And Dad's with him."

* * *

They found Harry Potter and George Weasley in the hollow near the entrance of the memorial garden, with the bench and pool. Two Aurors in black robes flanked the edge of the hollow, one of whom was carrying a wooden box.

"Well," said Harry, rising to his feet as they came up to him. His face was taut with anger. "So this is all part of a Transfiguration project, is it, Lily?"

"Dad, I didn't mean - "

Harry Potter held up a hand, and his daughter fell silent. His sharp green eyes turned to Hugo next. "Do you have any idea what's going on in the Ministry right now?"

"I..."

"Chaos," Harry interrupted. "Absolute chaos. The hearing has been postponed, since the defendant is nowhere to be found, and William Corley is accusing your mother and me of some kind of conspiracy. The president of MACUSA apparently wants to get involved too, despite the fact that he's all the way across the Atlantic. I should be there, managing things, and instead I'm here. Why is that?"

Uncle George looked distinctly uncomfortable. Albus had shut his eyes, as though he were in pain. Hugo drew a deep breath, and then said, "This was my idea. When I was in the Forbidden Forest a few months ago, I saw something that..."

" _Don't_ tell me any more. I don't need to know how many school rules you've broken. All I know is, if George hadn't filled me in..." Harry turned to his brother-in-law, then shook his head. "Then you would have put yourselves in incredible danger. You realise that, don't you?"

There was a long silence. One of the Aurors at the edge of the hollow coughed. At last, Harry said, sharply, "Where's Firenze?"

"Don't blame him," said Albus, who had opened his eyes again. "We're the ones who..."

"I _will_ blame him. I blame all of you! How in Merlin's name you thought you could get away with - "

"We don't have time for this!" Hugo exclaimed, and Harry swivelled around to look at him. "Corley will be back before long, won't he? Do you really want him and Spencer's Aurors to get mixed up in this? They'd see the portal in the Forest as another breach of security. They'd..."

"I'm well aware," said Harry Potter, "of how they would see it."

"So does that mean you're going to help us?"

"I have no intention of helping you. I should be back in the Ministry! Barnaby? Come here, please." Harry turned to one of the Aurors, beckoning him over. He took the wooden box out of his hands and handed it to Albus, who looked up at him uncomprehendingly. "Open it."

Albus opened the box, and went still. Inside was folded the square of the Invisibility Cloak, on top of it the black, gleaming Resurrection Stone, and by its side the Elder Wand. He glanced at Hugo and Lily, then up at his father again.

"The Deathly Hallows can only be destroyed by their master," said Harry Potter quietly. "Which is why I'm going to let you do this, Albus."

Hugo and Lily both sighed in relief, just as Harry's eyes flicked to them and he said, "But not you two."

* * *

It did not feel a bit like Christmas. The train journey from Hogwarts had been long and dull, and the houses on Bowes Road looked grey and miserable. Rain pooled on their windows like sweat, and the holly wreaths on the doors dripped and wept. Daisy Abbott held her duffel coat above her head with one hand, and pushed her trolley with the other. Ahead of her, Neville Longbottom strode with his two daughters on either side of him. They did not seem to mind the wet, as they chatted and laughed.

Madam Pye helped them with their luggage as they came in. Chatter filled the air. Enid and Alice thumped up the stairs as soon as they had set down their trolleys, calling out for their mother. Daisy quietly took her own luggage and followed. As she passed the door to her aunt's bedroom, she did not look in.

Each step creaked beneath her feet as she ascended to the attic. Then she was back in her little room, with her bed neatly made just as she had left it, and her old Muggle schoolbooks in a row on the shelf. The first thing she did was open a window to dispel the musty air. By the time the church bells rang out for evening service, she was fast asleep on her bed with her shoes still on and her trunk untouched.

At dinner they left her alone. Alice had taken to ignoring her existence since the Christmas party, and Enid followed suit. Only Neville made a few attempts at conversation, none of which were successful. Afterwards, Daisy escaped to the attic again. She started rereading a novel that she had loved when she was a child, and wondered how she could have enjoyed such drivel. She did her hair up in elaborate braids inspired by an old magazine she found, and tore them all down again when the look failed to match the glossy photograph.

When she was painting her nails out of sheer boredom, there came a knock on the door. "Come in," she called out, and almost dropped the varnish pot as she saw Hannah Longbottom standing in the doorway.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" her aunt said. _Aunt_? What was she now? Daisy didn't know. All she knew was that she could see dark shadows under her eyes, and her cheekbones standing out sharply in her face.

With an effort, Daisy dragged her gaze away and resumed her task. She heard the floorboards creak as her aunt approached, and then the bedsprings sagged under her weight as she sat down heavily.

"You've been very quiet since you got home."

The movements of the brush had to be exact. It was like colouring in the lines back in primary school. If you moved it a fraction too much to the left, it would stray outside the nail, and that looked messy.

"Did something happen?"

A blot of blue, dripping down onto the skin of her thumb. Daisy cursed under her breath and reached out her bedside table, seizing up a cotton pad.

"Neville says your exams went well, but apparently you're having some… trouble… some trouble with the other students. Daisy, why are you smiling?"

"I'm not smiling," Daisy said. She set down her varnish pot and began to blow on the nails of her left hand.

"You were, just a minute ago. Daisy, look at me."

"No."

Hannah Longbottom heaved a breath. "Are you angry at me?"

She sounded very tired. Daisy didn't care.

"Is it Hogwarts? Maybe I shouldn't have let Neville bring you there after all. Maybe you'd prefer to study at home, with me. If that's the case, Daisy, I'm sure we can arrange something: just tell me, and…"

"I want to know more about them," Daisy blurted. Her aunt was silent. She raised her eyes to her, pulling her knees to her chest. "My parents. You never tell me anything."

Hannah Longbottom's lower lip trembled. She wrenched her gaze away, towards the window. "They loved you very much, Daisy."

"And what about you?"

There was a flicker of doubt in her aunt's eyes. Blue-grey eyes, just like Alice's. "What do you mean?"

"Do _you_ love me?" She regretted the words the instant they were out of her mouth. She did not want to know the answer. Daisy scrambled off the bed as her aunt reached for her.

"Daisy - where are you going? We're not finished! Come back here!"

Daisy Abbott ran down the stairs as her aunt's calls faded away behind her.

* * *

Festoons of holly hung from the walls of the Leaky Cauldron; red stockings dangled from the mantelpiece; "Baby, Just Cast an Impervius Charm" was playing on some distant wireless; and Rose Weasley was beaming from ear to ear. "I can't believe it. I really can't believe it."

Nina and Scorpius exchanged glances at the other end of the table. They were sitting with their backs to the fire, so that Rose's face was bathed in light while theirs were left in shadow. "All three of us together again," she went on. "Just like old times. I Owled Albus to come join us, but he hasn't replied yet. Still, maybe he will later on. Ooh, this is _great_!"

"Rose," Scorpius interjected at last, while she was taking a sip from her Butterbeer and therefore unable to speak, "I think Nina has something important to tell us."

"Yes, of course, of course!" Rose put down her goblet and leaned towards Nina, her eyes eager. "How was Athens?"

"Well, actually, I just came from Alexandria..."

"You were in Egypt, too?! I had no idea! You never mentioned!"

"Yes, well, it was kind of a last-minute thing. My going there, I mean." Nina Meyer shifted in her seat, and Scorpius saw her hands rub together under the table - as though she were still cold, even so close to the fire. "And once I was there, in Alexandria, I thought I'd better..."

"Hold on. Hold on." With a scrape of her chair, Rose was up. "I'm just going to check if Albus has replied. But I want to hear everything, OK? Does anyone want anything from the bar? Scorpius? Nina?" Her smile remained in place as each of them shook their heads. She tripped away, pulling down the ends of her Christmas jumper.

"Hmph," Nina said as she watched her go. "Maybe I was wrong. If she's this happy when you two are broken up..."

"Shut up." Scorpius elbowed her from his seat. "It's the job. She loves it." He had met Rose at the hospital when her shift was over, and she had spent the whole ride on the Underground chattering about her patients, so that Scorpius couldn't get a word in to explain about Nina. This, of course, only served to augment her surprise when they finally arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, and so, thus far, the meeting had not gone the way either of them were expecting.

"It's so strange," Rose said, frowning, as she trooped back to their table. "I checked the Owlery, and Duke is back, but he's all beaten up and covered in snow, and he still has the note I wrote Albus. Mr Pratt says he must have been caught in the storm."

"But I thought Scotland was getting the worst of that," Scorpius said. "We only got a bit of snow this morning."

"I know, exactly. I've been checking the forecast all day at work. We had an old witch in this morning who slipped on ice - "

"Enough," Nina broke in, and they whipped their heads around to look at her. "The two of you are talking about weather. _Weather_. Enough. Now, I didn't come back to England to catch up, all right? I didn't come back here for the joy of Christmas, or any of that tosh, OK? Understood?"

"Understood," said Rose, and Scorpius fought a smile.

Nina sighed, drummed her fingers on the table, and began. "I'm here to help a friend. A good friend. I got to know her in Athens: Thalia. She went on her own digs a lot of the time, while we were mainly based around the Parthenon and the Acropolis. One day, she visited a tomb on Filopappou Hill and was hit by a Curse. Or so she thought. She got dizzy, dehydrated, nauseous. I told her she should go to one of the Healers in the museum, George Ripley."

The colour drained from Rose's face. Scorpius was silent. Nina paused, glancing between them. "So that name means something to you, too? To me, it didn't, at least not at the time. I didn't put it together till later. Anyway, he gave Thalia an antidote, to what he told her was a very ancient Curse." Reaching inside her bag again, Nina took out a vial, that was filled with a dark powder. "She didn't take all of it. Here." She passed it over to Rose, whose hands were shaking. "Not long after, her spells stopped working as well, and pretty soon, they weren't working at all. We told the museum, but they wouldn't do anything about it. Said it was an _unintended side-effect_. They said the man - George Ripley - had been transferred to Cairo. A few months later, we heard that he had moved again, to Alexandria, and that the same thing had happened to Lysander Scamander... except that he died."

There was a moment's pause. Scorpius grimaced, as though there were a bad taste in his mouth. "You think that George Ripley might have been _him_? Nott?"

"I know it was," said Nina, in a hard voice. "And I need to stop him hurting more people. People like - like Thalia." She looked down, and then up at Rose again. "You've got access to the testing labs in St Mungo's. I need you to help me find out what's in this so-called antidote. Can you do that for me? Rose?"

Rose Weasley was silent. Now her face was sad and tired. She took the vial from Nina, and turned it this way and that in the firelight. Finally, almost imperceptibly, she nodded.

* * *

Alice Longbottom had so much on her mind, she didn't know how she had managed to stay so cheerful all day. First of all, there had been Hugo Weasley's absence from Hogwarts Express that morning, and after she was _so_ looking forward to seeing him again, too - and Lily had been nowhere in any of the carriages, either, when she went looking. _Where were they_? When she asked Dad about it, he just told her that they were working on a project over the holidays. _A project?_ Alice couldn't believe it. Hugo had spent the whole party talking to her last night, only to let her go the next day without so much as a Merry Christmas?

Then, when they got home at last, there was Mum waiting to greet them, looking so much worse than she had in September when they said goodbye. What was that horrid Madam Pye _doing_? Alice thought she should go, since she was clearly wasting their money. She said as much to Dad, but he ignored her, as always. What kind of Christmas were they going to have this year? What if Mum had to go to St Mungo's in the middle of it?

Despite these worries, Alice stayed strong. She didn't want Enid to pick up on her mood and feel sad, too - her younger sister was always doing that. So Alice kept smiling, and laughing. And neither Enid nor Dad suspected a thing.

But some people were better at pretending than others. Something was bothering Daisy, too - no doubt it was Hugo Weasley - and she didn't try to hide it for a second. She hadn't said a single word to anyone on the way home, or at dinner. Later on, Alice heard her shouting from the attic, and running down the stairs. By the time she came out of her room to see what was going on, her cousin had left the house, and her mother was standing at the top of the stairs, shaking.

Naturally, Alice had been furious. She was _still_ furious. Where did Daisy get off, making her mother upset like that when she was already sick? She went to Dad to tell him what Daisy had done, but again, he ignored her. As always.

So here Alice was, standing outside Daisy's bedroom door and listening for signs of life. It was dark now; Mum was gone to bed, Neville and Enid were downstairs playing cards, and she had heard Daisy return a few minutes ago, her footsteps quiet on the stairs. She didn't stop to talk to anyone, or tell them where she had been. Something was definitely wrong. Someone had to tell her this kind of behaviour wasn't acceptable. Mum and Dad weren't going to do it, and so the duty fell to Alice.

She raised her fist and knocked. Silence from within. But there was a bar of light under Daisy's door. Turning the handle, Alice entered without waiting for a reply.

A cold night breeze swept her face and halted her. Daisy was standing by the open window, tying a letter to her owl's leg. All at once, a horrible suspicion seized Alice's mind.

"You - " she started to say, and then D

* * *

aisy turned from the window and saw her. There was a flash of anger in her cousin's blue eyes, and then her mouth settled in a firm line as she pointed towards the door.

"Out!"

"But - "

" _Out_!"

Alice's mouth opened and closed. She had never seen an expression like that on her cousin's face before. Such a reaction could only mean one thing...

" _OUT_! GET OUT!" Daisy ran at her; Alice jerked back and slammed the bedroom door behind her, thumping down the stairs. She didn't breathe easy until she was in her own room again, and then, only when she was sure her cousin hadn't come running after her.

Dad and Enid came from upstairs to see what was wrong. Dad scolded, and left; Enid said nothing, and lingered, searching Alice's eyes with her own. She came forward and sat on the bed beside her older sister. They both stared into silence, watching the pink ruffled curtain flutter as it was caught in a draught.

Finally, Alice shifted on the bedclothes and said, quietly, "I was worried this would happen."

"What?" Enid said. When her sister did not reply straight away, she repeated, in a voice that was almost pleading, "What? What is it? Is it Daisy? Has she done something?"

Alice Longbottom gave a deep, tragic sigh. And finally, she said, "It's Hugo. She's obviously been writing to him. Enid... I actually think there might be something going on between them."

* * *

Summer skies stretched above the memorial garden, but Hugo Weasley could have sworn he felt the faintest of cold breezes on his neck as he watched Firenze, Albus and George walk away down the path. Harry had left, too, to return to the Ministry.

"This is bullshit," he said. "I'm of age. I'm the one who came up with this whole plan, and now I'm supposed to stay behind?"

"There's nothing we can do." Lily's voice was flat. "The Aurors are at the entrance of the garden. They'll stop us if we try to leave."

"So we just have to wait?" Hugo turned to her. "What did Albus give you, anyway, before he went?"

She showed him an old Dumbledore's Army coin. "He said in case they get into trouble."

"And what exactly are we supposed to do if that happens? How exactly can we help them from here?" Hugo snorted. "Come on."

"Where are you going?" Lily ran to keep up with him as he set off across the footbridge.

"Where do you think? There must be another way out of this bloody place."

"I _told_ you, Albus and I already tried to reach the end and we just went around in circles."

"Well, I want to see for myself."

They walked for a time in silence, passing the gazebo and continuing on the same path she and Albus had travelled earlier. And the further they went, the stranger their surroundings became.

At first, Hugo could notice no difference. But little by little, changes began to work themselves into their surroundings. The wisps of cloud in the sky overhead lost their texture. The gravel stopped crunching underfoot, until quite soon, they were walking over a path whose small stones looked as though they had been painted on. Lily stopped to pick a flower from the side of the path, and showed it to Hugo. It had crumpled to paper in her hand.

"I don't understand," she said. "It wasn't like this before."

Hugo looked up at the sky, as he felt a cold droplet hit his face. "I think I know why," he said, after a moment.

* * *

Albus Potter and George Weasley were silent as they walked through the Forbidden Forest, each wrapped in their own thoughts. One was thinking about a brother who had died with laughter on his lips, the other of a brother who had died alone, in panic and fear. Ahead of them, sometimes disappearing into the trees, was Firenze. If he was impatient with the slow pace of the wizards accompanying him, he never gave any sign of it. He did not speak at all.

They followed a narrow path, where strange prints often appeared in the slush beneath their feet. It was still day, and would be for some hours yet; but little light was allowed in past the vast, dark trees that stood guard above their heads. Snow did occasionally settle on their shoulders or arms, leaving a wet, cold mark as it melted. And all around them were the reassuring sounds of life: the rustle of the undergrowth, the flutter of wings from branch to branch.

Despite this, George seemed uncomfortable with the silence between them, and finally took at his duty to fill it by talking to Albus about his plans for the shop.

"You know that passage when you're coming in the Hogsmeade branch?"

"Not really," said his nephew, mildly annoyed. "I've only been there once."

"Really? I thought you were on duty there last week, for the Christmas sales."

"That wasn't me, that was Sara."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Well, anyway, Roxanne was saying that we should put displays there, too, in the passage. You know, pique the customers' interest as they're coming in. What do you think?"

"I don't know," said Albus, after a long, expectant silence made it clear that his uncle really _was_ looking for his opinion. "I think it's fine the way it is."

"Ah, but we have to keep improving! Nothing is _ever_ fine the way it is. That's the secret of business, Albus. Roxanne knows; she's worked in Madam Malkin's for years."

"OK," said Albus, half-exasperated, half-amused. "Then you should probably listen to her advice."

"Yes, but - "

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

Albus Potter had stopped on the path. Ahead of them, Firenze had disappeared again. George followed his nephew's gaze, and made a face. "I didn't hear anything."

Ignoring him, Albus quickened his pace. He clapped his hand over his nose as a stench rose to greet him, and then they turned a corner in the path and saw, sprawled on the slush, the body of a centaur with a chestnut coat. He lay motionless, his face concealed by a snow drift, so that they could not see his eyes. Albus was glad for that, at least.

Firenze was standing very still, looking down at the scene. As they watched him, unsure of what to say, a tear slid down his cheek and fell onto the shadow of fair stubble on his chin. "We must go on."

"But we can stop," George said, uncertainly, "Give him a proper burial - "

"Do you think my people would not have buried him already, if they could?" Firenze rounded on him, his hooves sending up a flurry of snow. There was a blaze of anger in his eyes, that faded after a moment into the faint glow of an ember. "They do not come this far into the Forest any more. That means we are close."

Albus was not sure if it was the centaur's words or the overpowering smell that made him feel a little sick. But as they continued along the path, he started to see that it was neither. The light dimmed so rapidly that it was though someone had scattered darkness powder around them. George cast a protection charm that encompassed him and his nephew. Albus lit his wand, and walked a little ahead. The white light threw shadows around them, illuminating stunted trees, blasted soil and twisted tree trunks. There was no falling snow here, no flapping wings, no scurrying feet.

As the trees finally cleared around them and they emerged into a glade, lit with a sickly yellow light that did not come from any wand, it was difficult to tell whether it had been a few minutes or an hour since they had passed the dead centaur. Everything seemed to have sped up. Albus and George watched, their feet sinking into old snow, as Firenze moved to the centre of the glade, and in slow, controlled movements that they could not imagine themselves making under the circumstances, began to scatter dried herbs in a wide circle.

"Can we help?" George called out after a few minutes, his voice far too loud. He exchanged a look with Albus, and handed him the wooden box he had been carrying for most of the walk. "Firenze?"

The centaur was deaf to the sound of his own name, even as Albus joined his voice to George's. When he had walked around the circumference of the circle, he stopped in the centre and raised his eyes to the sky. There was a sound like the crack of a gunshot, and the two wizards saw the ice breaking over a frozen stream that crossed the glade. Dark water spilled out in a long, narrow stream, oozing over the clearing. It hissed when it reached the circle, turned to steam, and then a ring of blue flames flickered into being. George and Albus looked around as an icy breeze swept past them from nowhere, and then Firenze called out,

"Bring the Deathly Hallows here."

Albus Potter swallowed. He looked at his uncle again, who met his gaze and gave a slow nod. Albus stepped forward, squaring his shoulders. The closer he drew to the blue flames, the more intense the heat grew. He had not expected it to be like this. With sweaty fingers he opened the wooden box and drew out the folded grey square of the Invisibility Cloak. The swathe of material rippled in his hands, light to the touch, and with a strange tug to his heart, he passed it over the ring into Firenze's hands.

Sweat was pooling on the centaur's forehead, and the muscles in his neck were strained as though with some enormous effort. He held Albus's gaze as he took the Cloak from him, and placed it beside his hooves, at the centre of the ring. Foreign words issued from his lips, sounding to Albus's ears like some kind of chant.

"OK?" George's voice came from somewhere behind him. Albus turned his head slightly, and nodded. The heat of the flames were making his throat dry. He reached into the box again and drew out the Elder Wand, turning it over in his hands for a moment. It sang to him - it made every fibre of his body come to life, and he thought of the wonderful things he could do with it, the mountains of greatness that he would scale, the palaces of power that would be all his...

A loud noise recalled him to himself, and he realised that the glass of his spectacles had cracked with the heat. He reached up to adjust them on his nose, and then passed the Elder Wand over the ring into Firenze's hands.

The centaur did not hold his gaze this time; he seemed barely capable of keeping his eyes open. They rolled upwards until only the whites were showing, and Albus made a desperate grasp forward - but the centaur stayed standing, and his mouth moved as he chanted the same words again, quieter than before. He stooped and laid the Elder Wand on the Invisibility Cloak.

With trembling hands, Albus reached into the wooden box for the last of the Deathly Hallows. His hand closed around the Resurrection Stone, and it was wonderfully cool to the touch. But as he took it out, it began to glow with light within his clenched fist, so sudden and bright that he dropped the wooden box, which fell right into the fire. The blue flames shot up as they devoured it greedily. Albus leapt back from their reach, his heart pounding, and it was then that he realised they were not alone anymore.

The glade was criss-crossed with shadows, that leapt and dove through the air. Some of them made straight for him, and though Albus swatted them away with his free hand each time, more always seemed to follow. High-pitched screams and faint laughter filled his ears. He saw faces contorted with hatred, teeth bared in snarls, before they dissolved into the air. "Uncle George," he murmured, and then louder, "Uncle George, cast a Patronus! Cast a Patronus!"

But George Weasley made no sound. When Albus turned to look, his uncle was lying still on the ground, shadows gnawing at his motionless form. He threw himself forward, scattering them, and dropped to his knees, shaking his uncle's shoulders. "Uncle George, Uncle George! Wake up, wake up!"

Firenze's voice, low and feeble now, barely reached his ears, but it reminded Albus that he still had the Resurrection Stone clutched in his palm. Drawing in a deep breath, he let go of George's shoulders and rose to his feet again. He turned and walked towards the circle. The blue flames had died down to a flicker now. And within them, Firenze was lying on his side. Albus swallowed hard, and stopped outside the ring. He was hot and cold all at once. "Firenze?"

Relief crashed over him as he saw the centaur stirring, raising a hand. Albus reached out to hand him the Resurrection Stone - and he caught a flash of movement in the corner of his eye, and turned to look. There, in the dark trees, a tall figure stood, watching him.

James Potter stepped out into the sickly yellow light. He looked terrified. He looked - it had never struck Albus before - so young. "Please," he was saying, over and over. "Please, Al."

The Resurrection Stone was slippery in his palm.

"Please, Al, don't send me back there. Don't send me back, please..." Tears slid out of the corners of James Potter's eyes. Tears were falling down his brother's face more rapidly as he gazed back at him through cracked spectacles.

"I want to stay." James's voice was broken with sorrow. "Please let me stay."

"I _want_ you to stay," sobbed Albus. "I wish you'd never left."

"I don't want to go back there. It's cold and dark. And I'm all alone. I'm alone. Albus..."

The blue flames were gone, and in their place were glowing embers. Albus made himself look towards them, even as James continued pleading with him. He saw that Firenze's hand had fallen to his side. Beside him was the Cloak and Wand, untouched by the shadows outside the ring. He saw the gleam of blue eyes, still open, gazing at him through the flames. He started to shake his head.

"Al, no!" James's voice grew louder. His face was lengthening, and the yellow light had reached his eyes now. "Al, _please_!"

"I'm sorry," whispered Albus, with tears still running down his face, and as he threw the Resurrection Stone from him into the circle, his brother's voice grew in his ears until it was a howl of despair, that rent his very being into shards.

* * *

What happened next was something only George Weasley witnessed, and though he often spoke about it later, there was some people who had trouble believing it. He had slipped into a strange sleep as he lay there in the glade: he walked in a twilight realm, with no sun or moon and only shadows darting around him.

But something nudged him awake, and his eyes fluttered open. He felt that he must be covered in burns, though when he looked down at himself, wincing, he could see no marks on his body. The darting shadows were gone. With a great effort he sat up, and just glimpsed, slipping into the trees, a silvery shape. In the next instant, it was gone, swallowed up by darkness.

Groaning, George pulled himself to his feet. He could not feel much wonder at what he had just seen when burning pain still gripped his body - or when he could see his nephew lying unconscious a few yards away. He limped over to him. "Albus?"

His feet crunched on something. Looking down, George saw a broken pair of spectacles. As he bent to pick them up, he glanced across at the circle. The blue flames were still flickering, but within the ring, Firenze lay still. His eyes were closed. Drawing his wand, George reached out with his magic. " _Homenum Revelio."_

He could feel only the consciousnesses of himself and Albus. No one else. George bit his lip so hard that he drew blood. Beside the body of the centaur, he could see that the three Deathly Hallows were still where they had been placed.

"Albus. Wake up. The spell didn't work." George touched the tip of his wand to his nephew's temple. " _Rennervate_." Nothing happened. In frustration, he shook Albus so that his head lolled, and out of one of his trouser pockets fell a gold coin. George picked it up before it rolled into the flames. "Albus, wake up for God's sake. It isn't over."

Silence in the glade. All sounds had dropped away: the crackle of flame. And into the silence came a sigh, and a whisper. Feeling a prickle at the back of his neck, George slowly turned.

"Ah," he said, as calmly as he could. "It's you."

* * *

"Listen to me," said Hugo Weasley in a low, dangerous voice. "This place is falling apart. _Literally_. You have to let us out so that we can go help the others."

The Aurors standing guard at the entrance of the memorial garden looked back at him, unimpressed. One of them said in a monotone, "Mr Potter gave us orders to keep you here until the party in the Forest returns. We have no intention to disobey those orders."

"But just look around you!" Hugo waved an arm at the snow drifting down onto green grass behind. "Doesn't that strike you as strange? This is an _enchanted garden_. It's supposed to be always summer here. But it's snowing. Can you see any clouds? No, because they aren't there. This - "

"Hugo." Lily had come up beside him, and clutched his arm. Impatient, he shook her off, continuing on his tirade,

" - this garden was designed for only one purpose. People who've lost someone close to them are supposed to come in here and mourn. But here you lot are, guarding us, and we've been here since morning, planning a way to get rid of the Deathly Hallows and close the portal in the Forest, and - and..." Hugo paused as an unpleasant thought occurred to him, frowning. " - and yeah, I suppose that sort of makes this whole thing our fault, but..."

" _Hugo_."

"Sorry, I mean _my_ fault. But still..." Hugo brought his arms down to his side, and shook his head as he looked at the Aurors. "But still, you've got to see that there's something really wrong here. I mean, _look_." He pointed up at the sky, where the sun had dwindled to a small, glowing circle. Breezes swept around them, and there was a low rumble in the ground under their feet. "The enchantment is breaking. And I don't know exactly what that means, but we could be in serious danger. The longer we stay here..."

"We are here to protect you from danger, Mr Weasley," said the other Auror, in a measured voice. "Now please, let us do our job."

"I can't - "

" _Hugo Charles Weasley_." Lily Potter tugged at her cousin's arm so hard that he wheeled about, staring at her. "Come on."

She led him away from the Aurors at a quick stride. As Hugo stumbled along, she broke into a run.

"OK, OK," he panted, following her, "I get it. The Aurors aren't going to budge. We've got to come up with another plan..."

Lily stopped, and swung around to stare at him. They had reached Daisy's footbridge. Hugo stared down at the gold coin Lily handed him, which almost scalded his fingers with its heat, and read the letters formed in the place of numbers around its edges. FIRENZE DEAD. HELP.

"No," Hugo said softly.

"What are we going to do?" Lily cried.

"I don't know," he said. "I don't know!"

Beyond the bridge, on the perfect, postcard blue horizon had appeared the edges of a grey cloud. The bridge was shaking under their weight. Hugo was trembling, too. Lily put an arm around his shoulders to steady him, and looked up at his face. "It's all right. It's going to be all right. We'll go back to the Aurors, and tell them what's happened. They'll go to the Forest and help Albus and Uncle George and... what?"

Hugo was shaking his head. He held up the coin, and traced its edges while Lily stared. "It's a circle."

"So?"

"A second circle," Hugo said, more to himself than to her, and then he began to run: not towards the Aurors, but in the other direction - towards the great grey cloud that grew and grew on the horizon, swallowing up the beautiful blue.

"Where are you going?" Now it was Lily running after him. Hugo veered off the path and barrelled right into the hedges, which toppled backwards like scenery in a play, crumpling like paper under Lily's feet as she followed.

A clap of thunder, right over their heads. As it rumbled in their ears, Hugo called back to Lily, "Firenze knew he was going to die!"

" _What_?" she cried into the rising wind. "What are you talking about?"

"He tried to tell me!" Hugo shouted. "He showed me what to do!"

They left the hedges behind, splashed through a shallow pool and came up onto a rise. Before them stretched the vista of flowerbeds and lawns that they had seen before, but now its far edges were blurred, as though it were curling in upon itself. Wind howled in their ears, and they could feel the damp air of the cloud bearing down on them. Hugo raised his hand and pointed to the crest of the rise, where the gazebo which was shaking where it stood. "Come on!"

They ran, struggling to keep their footing on the slippery ground, and burst into the gazebo, slamming the glass doors behind. Hugo dropped to his knees and started rummaging on the ground, picking up a broken candle. "Help me!" he snapped over his shoulder.

Lily took a few quick breaths, and then said, "What am I looking for?"

It was quieter here, the wind a muffled cry. But the glass around them was trembling. Hugo handed the candle to Lily. "Repair it." He fumbled on the ground, gathering up a burnt substance that looked like ash.

Lily took out her wand, steadied her hand, and pointed it at the candle. She whispered, " _Reparo_." Then, at a sudden, startling noise, she looked up and saw a spiderweb of cracks forming in the roof of the gazebo over their heads. "Hugo?"

He took the candle from her and lit it with a blue flame. "Don't look up."

"I don't want to die!" she cried.

"I don't plan on letting you," he said fiercely. "Look at _me,_ Lily. Only me."

She could see green through the glass now, a green wave rising to fold them up in it. But she looked into Hugo's brown eyes, and saw the tears clinging to his eyelashes. "You're going to have to trust me."

She nodded, though she didn't. He let go of her hands, and picked up the candle again. With his free hand, he waved his wand and summoned a spurt of water, which splashed on the floor. Without looking around at her, he said, "I need a fourth element, Lily."

It took her a moment to understand, but then she summoned a gust of air, that blew right through the gazebo and made the blue flame of the candle flicker dangerously. Hugo was scattering the burnt herbs now, in the shape of a circle. He placed a foot within it, and looked at Lily. "Come on."

The glass walls of the gazebo shattered as they stepped inside the circle, and Lily Potter screwed her eyes shut. A wave of cold wind crashed over them. But Hugo's hand was warm over hers. They fell to their knees as the floor of the gazebo gave out. Their screams joined the great uproar and became one with it. And when they at last opened their eyes again, they were kneeling in snow, looking up at two pale-faced Aurors with their wands drawn, and beyond them, the towers of Hogwarts Castle.

* * *

In that silent glade, Albus Potter opened his eyes to find himself sitting on the ground by his uncle's side. Relief crashed over him. "You're all right!"

But George Weasley placed a finger to his lips and pointed. They rose to their feet and watched as before them, the ring of blue flames flickered into life again. Someone was standing at its edge. Without his glasses, Albus could only see a blurred, dark figure, and thought it must be Firenze. A strange whispering entered his ears as he looked at him.

Then George was pulling him back, as with a great burst of light, the blue flames flared right up to the sky. There was a sound like a scream, and Albus Potter opened his mouth and screamed with it: he screamed until his throat was raw, until his uncle put an arm around his shoulders and said,

"It's over. Albus, it's over."

* * *

The Hogwarts kitchens were quiet, as most of the house-elves had been given time off for Christmas. The few that remained had made hot drinks for the cold, miserable party that returned from the snowy grounds. Firelight gleamed in the burnished pots and pans that hung on the walls.

George Weasley took a sip of his tea and sighed. "I think I need something stronger." He looked across at Albus and Hugo, who were both battered and pale. They did not meet his gaze, staring down at the surface of the table. Beyond them sat the two Aurors, who had changed out of their dark robes as they came off duty. They spoke to each other in low, disbelieving voices. A good thing Harry had insisted on them staying, George reflected. He did not even want to think about what might have happened to Lily and Hugo without their protection charms.

Everyone was surprised when Lily produced a hipflask from nowhere and drank from it. George raised his eyebrows at his niece. "I'll pretend I didn't see that."

"You asked for something stronger," she retorted. Turning in her seat, she passed the flask to Hugo and said, more quietly, "How did you know? What Firenze wanted you to do?"

Hugo glanced at her, and took a swig from the flask before he replied. "When I went to talk to him alone, in the gazebo, he had set up his Elemental spell. He wanted me to see it, how it worked. I've read about second circles before: with Elemental spells, you often need a kind of... back-up..." He waved a hand, in search of a better noun, "In case the principal caster isn't powerful enough. I think - Firenze knew he was going to need help, in the end."

"And you think he knew he was going to die?" Lily spoke so quietly now that the crackle of the fire almost drowned her out.

Hugo nodded, as he passed the flask on to Albus. He rubbed his hands together, interweaving the fingers, and stared down at them. "That bit's harder to explain. But Firenze told me he had a vision, of a dead centaur in the Forest..."

" _We_ saw that," George broke in, his eyes flickering to Albus, who did not respond. He had not touched the flask Lily passed him. "On our way to the glade, we saw him."

"Well, Firenze said," Hugo continued, "that visions don't always have a straightforward interpretation. So when you lot sent the message on the coin that he had died - I kind of realised what he had meant. He didn't care about missing the hearing at the Ministry. He kept saying the shadows in the Forest were his own fault. He... sacrificed himself."

"A blood sacrifice," Lily murmured, and at this, Albus looked up at her, with startled green eyes.

"What are you _talking_ about?"

There was a silence. After a moment, Hugo turned to his cousin. "Don't take that tone with her. I know you went through some stuff in the Forest, but so did we. If not for us..."

"I've got to get out of here," Albus interrupted. There was an edge of panic to his voice as he rose, rubbing a hand over his jaw, and hurried out of the kitchen. Lily sighed.

"I can stick up for myself, Hugo. Honestly, couldn't you have been a bit more understanding?"

" _Understanding_? I just..."

George Weasley left his niece and nephew still arguing, and walked out of the kitchens at a quick stride. He caught up with Albus in the corridor outside. "Hang on a second, will you? Where are you going?"

"Anywhere," Albus responded, desperately.

"Without your glasses?" George handed them over to Albus, who looked at them as though he had never seen them before. He wiped the lenses with his sleeve, and then turned to his uncle.

"Did you fix these?"

"Yes, I did."

"Thank you." Albus put on his glasses, blinking as his eyes adjusted. At the end of the corridor, George could hear the howl of wind down the steps that led up to the Entrance Hall. He waited for a moment, sensing that his nephew wanted to say more. Finally, "I almost didn't go through with it."

"What?"

"Destroying the Stone." Albus wrapped his arms around himself as a cold draught struck them. He did not look at George as he said, "James came to me. He told me not to do it. He _begged_ me."

"That wasn't James," George said gently.

"You don't - "

"I _do_ know that. You know how I know? Because I saw Fred, too. And he said the same thing to me."

Albus Potter stared at his uncle, his lips slightly parted, and his green eyes wide. He sucked in his breath as though he were tasting air for the first time. "You mean..."

"It was a trick. An illusion."

Silence followed this.

"I _know_ Fred is in a good place," George continued. "I'm a twin." He shrugged. "Twins know these things. Maybe you don't feel it yet with James. Maybe you'll never feel it. But you have to believe that he's OK, Albus. Because he lived a good life, and he was a good person."

"For the most part," said Albus under his breath, and George surprised them both by chuckling.

"Yeah, all right, for the most part. Now come on, let's go back, before all the Firewhiskey's gone." He put a hand on his nephew's shoulder and steered him back into the kitchens.

* * *

Once upon a time, Rose Weasley remembered wanting to join the ranks of Healers because she had imagined there was an order to all that they did. Now, she knew that was not true. Six weeks at St Mungo's Hospital had taught her otherwise. The place existed in a permanent state of chaos. No matter how many Healers and Matrons and trainees were on duty, it never seemed to be enough. Someone was always in pain; something was always going wrong. Sometimes Rose would look in the mirror and imagine herself in ten years' time. Would she be bowed down beyond her age, like some of the other Healers she had seen? Would she always flounder somewhere on the line between exhaustion and hysteria?

On the morning of Christmas Eve, Rose came off duty as day was breaking. She descended into the lobby thinking of her bed at home, only to see Nina Meyer sitting beneath a portrait of Dilys Derwent. Her heart sank, and then sank again, chiding her.

"Busy night?"

"You could say that," Rose responded as she came up, her shoes clicking on the tile. Nina turned to face her. She was wearing two scarves, despite the fact that the heating was on full blast. Her bloodshot eyes stood out startlingly in her dark face. "How long have you been waiting here?"

"A few hours."

Rose shook her head. "You shouldn't have..."

"Did you test it? The sample I gave you?"

"I did."

"And?" Nina got up from her seat to follow her as she moved towards the doorway. Outside, the sun had risen, but the colours of the city were too dull, while its sounds were much too loud. They walked towards the Underground station, slow on their feet.

"It's Bloodroot," Rose said at last, bitterly. At Nina's uncomprehending look, "Bloodroot Poison. The same that almost killed my mum two years ago."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh." Rose rounded on her. "Did you know about this?"

"Of course I didn't."

"But she was given this, your friend? As the antidote to some Curse she got in a tomb?"

"The Curse didn't belong to the tomb in the first place," Nina said quietly. "It was placed there. By him."

"By Nott?" Rose shook her head. They had reached the top of the steps to the Underground. "How do you know all this? You have to understand, Nina - you fly in yesterday unannounced and tell us all these - these mad things, and suddenly..."

"I know it because I was there," said Nina abruptly. "I went in there myself. And I found the truth symbol on an old sarcophagus. The one we saw all over Hogwarts that year. _He_ was there. He had to be."

"I don't... I don't..."

"It's how he gets people, Rose." Nina's dark eyes held hers, and despite herself, she could not look away. There was a weariness in them beyond anything she had felt herself, on her worst days. "They go into the tomb, get sick, and then come to him. He Heals them by taking their magic. Curse-Breaking is a dangerous job, but this is something else."

An old man knocked into Rose's shoulder, and she turned to watch him hobble down the steps. Down beyond her line of sight, she could hear the whistle of a train, getting louder and louder. "Don't tell me, Nina," she said weakly. "Don't tell me you..."

"I've got it." Nina's voice rang with finality. "The Curse, whatever you want to call it. The same thing Lysander had when he went to see George Ripley. Only I didn't take the cure."

Rose turned her head to look back at her, swallowing hard. Her eyes drifted to her friend's two scarves. "That's why you..."

"I'm cold all the time. And dizzy. I can't keep my food down. And it's getting worse." Nina folded her arms over her chest. "But at least I haven't lost my magic. And neither have you."

"I can't." A lump was rising in Rose's throat. "Don't ask me, Nina."

"You Healed Scorpius once before. You've got something no one else has, Rose."

Rose's mind was blank. She felt frozen. Then, a lifeline: the words Madam Price had spoken to her on that terrible day. She spoke them coldly. "Some things are beyond our control."

Nina blinked. She watched Rose closely. "You really believe that, don't you?"

Rose nodded quickly. "I... I have to go. I can't help you, Nina." She hurried down the steps and left Nina behind before her tears overwhelmed her completely.

* * *

Daisy Abbott ignored the rumble in her stomach and lay on her bed, listening. When she had heard the front door of the house slam, carrying with it the voices of her cousins and her uncle, she rose and put on her dressing gown. Her hair was greasy and sticking up in places. She didn't bother smoothing it before padding downstairs.

"Daisy?" Hannah Longbottom's voice drifted out to greet her as she came to the bottom of the stairs. Daisy halted, considering for a moment. It was Madam Pye's day off. Grudgingly, she pushed open the bedroom door and stood in the threshold.

"Do you need something?"

"I want to talk to you," Hannah began, pushing herself up from her pillows. "Daisy, if there's something I've done..."

"You should rest," Daisy interrupted. "I'm getting breakfast. Then I'm meeting a friend, nearby. I won't be long."

She closed the door on her aunt's protesting voice. She descended the stairs to the kitchen, and rifled in the cupboards until she had found something she wanted to eat. She sat at the head of the table, propped her feet on one of the chairs. She thought of Uncle Neville, Enid and Alice, struggling through the crowds in Diagon Alley as they made their last-minute purchases. Normally, she would have had to go with them. But not now. Daisy breathed a sigh of relief.

When she was finished eating, she stacked her bowl and plate in the sink and went upstairs for a shower. In her attic room, she dressed in a fluffy white jumper and jeans. She checked in on Hannah again as she was passing the landing and found her fast asleep. The front door of the house in Arnos Grove slammed for the second time that morning.

Daisy's sense of peace dissolved as soon as she stepped out onto the street. Suddenly she felt everyone was looking at her. A Deliveroo cyclist turned his head and stared as he went past. She hunched her shoulders and bent her head, fixing her gaze on the path. At the entrance to the station, she found herself apologising when a woman ran straight into her. Inside the round ticket hall, light beamed in from the glass panels, hurting her eyes. She turned in a circle, but could not see him. Her hairline began to itch, her mouth went dry, her stomach felt fizzy and uncertain. Perhaps she had misread the time on the note he had sent her yesterday. Was it better if he didn't turn up at all? It was, surely. She should go back home right now. She should -

Someone touched her on the arm as they passed. She went still and watched the short, squat man a little way ahead of her. He was dressed in a suit, and held a briefcase. He went into the Starbucks up ahead without looking back. After a moment, Daisy followed.

They sat at a table in the corner. Daisy had chosen a seat facing the wall, so she was constantly turning her head whenever she heard the door open. Theodore Nott never appeared to notice her nervousness. Then again, in his disguise, it was difficult to tell what emotions flitted over his florid face.

"I promise you, he will not be hurt," Nott said when she handed him the handkerchief in which Mr Shirley's hairs were wrapped. "This will simply make it easier for me to visit you in the castle."

"So you want me to stay there?" Daisy said, stirring a spoon in her coffee and watching the milk swirl to the top. "The other day you said..."

"I know what I said." There was the slightest edge of annoyance to his voice, but when she looked up at his face, she knew she must have imagined it. "I have plans for us, Daisy, but you must give me time." After a pause, he added, "Wouldn't you prefer to stay in Hogwarts, anyway, until it is all arranged?"

"No." The single word dropped like a stone through still water. "And I don't think I can."

Her father leaned forward in his seat, frowning at her. Daisy turned to look at the door for a third time, and then said in a rush, "I have to tell you something."

When she had finished explaining about the meeting with Corley, and the threats he had made, Theodore Nott's expression did not change. He looked calm and thoughtful, and even took a sip of his tea. But Daisy could not help noticing, in the minute's silence that elapsed, that he did not blink once.

At last, he said, firmly, "You don't need to worry about William Corley."

"But I told you, he wants me to - " Catching herself, Daisy lowered her voice. "He wants me to spy on the Weasleys. He said they're keeping some secret. What am I supposed to do?"

"I will deal with him."

"But - "

"Daisy." Theodore Nott brought his cup down on the table hard, so that Daisy could feel the reverberations through her fingers. "I took a risk coming here and meeting you. Didn't I? I trusted that you would say nothing to anyone. I trusted that you would not show anyone the note I sent you last night."

"Yes," she said, seeing where he was going, "But - "

"No buts." There was a hint of a smile about her father's mouth - or perhaps she was imagining that, too. "You have to trust me, too, Daisy. I will make sure that your secret is safe. And you should stay away from the Weasleys."

"That won't be hard," Daisy mumbled.

"I will leave first. You'll hear from me soon."

He moved so quickly that she did not have time to respond. One minute, he was sitting across from her, and the next, he was gone. Daisy only felt a light touch on her shoulder before he had left the Starbucks, the door swinging shut behind him.

* * *

There was no body for the funeral. No trace of Professor Firenze had been left behind when he vanished from the glade. _A blood sacrifice_ , like Lily had said. They all knew what it meant. But no one spoke about it. Hugo Weasley was glad; it was better that the Guardian remain at the edge of his nightmares, never closer than the time he had glimpsed it in the trees. He hoped that it was gone for good.

Following what had been a sleepless night for almost everyone, he, Albus, Lily and George left the castle early and ventured across the white wasteland of the grounds, only stopping when they had come up to the dark trees of the Forbidden Forest. Harry soon joined them, with an Auror with him as security, and completing the party were Madam Bulstrode, Mr Shirley, Mr Tomgallon and Healer Hopkirk.

It was not snowing, but a cold, bitter wind sent their cloaks flapping where they stood. They buried what few possessions had been found in Firenze's office. Without their owner, it struck Hugo that the objects looked positively mundane: a couple of earthenware pots, a sextant and a cauldron. At the end of it all, a solitary arrow flew out from the trees, causing a few of them to jump back in alarm. It glanced off the frozen ground and sank into the newly-turned earth.

After the ceremony, the party broke into twos and threes as they made their way back to the castle. Hugo fell into step with Mr Shirley, and was surprised to see tears streaming down the librarian's face. Uncertain how to approach the situation, as it was one he had never expected to encounter, Hugo made a few attempts at conversation, all of which fell flat. At last, Mr Shirley coughed and said weakly,

"Do forgive me. I just can't believe it's gone."

"It? You mean - oh."

They were passing the greenhouses, and Hugo glanced around him, at the copse of trees that had once led to the memorial garden. He swallowed hard.

"How on earth he came to be there - Firenze, I mean - I don't know," Mr Shirley continued. "But I did warn the board, several times, that the enchantments around that garden ought to be more carefully monitored. They never listened to me, of course. But it was too large an undertaking from the beginning. There was too much to be maintained: the weather, the protection spells, the illusions..." He stopped short, coughing again, and glanced towards Hugo. "There was a plaque in the garden that I had put up, you see, last year, for my sister. Her grave is so far away, and sometimes I can't get away from the school to visit it..."

"I'm sorry," Hugo said awkwardly. Then, as his eyes flicked upwards, he frowned. "What happened to your head, sir?"

Mr Shirley gave a start, and put his hand up to his forehead as though he had forgotten the bandage was there. "Some prank," he murmured, and then his eyes found Hugo as though he were seeing him for the first time. "Excuse me." He hurried on, leaving him behind.

"Scared him away?" Lily came up from behind, looping her arm through Hugo's. They had nearly reached the entrance to the castle now, which looked a blank, yawning edifice with most of the occupants gone. "Come on, we'd better get packing."

* * *

Through the windows of the Knight Bus, lonely country roads became bustling town streets, and drifting snow turned to lashing rain in the blink of an eye. Lily Potter burrowed down under her coat and slept. Every now and then, her brother and cousin looked at one another and then away again.

It was Albus who spoke first. Once the bus had stopped on a bridge over a muddy river, and a group of young witches had clattered down from the upper levels and thanked the conductor as they got off, he cleared his throat and said, "I never thanked you."

Hugo reached back for the seat support as the bus took off again. Lily was tossed against him, then against her brother, but her expression remained serene. "She'd sleep through anything," he muttered. With a glance at Albus, "It's all right. I don't expect to be thanked."

"I know you didn't want to get involved in this kind of stuff. You told me, months ago, and I didn't listen." Albus paused, glancing at his sister as she stirred in her sleep. He lowered his voice. "It's just... sometimes you really do remind me of him."

Hugo stared straight ahead as he said, "Of James?"

"Yeah."

They were thrown back against their seats again as the bus came to a screeching halt. "Merlin," muttered Hugo, once he had caught his breath. "Why couldn't we have got the Portkey with your dad and Uncle George?"

"They're making a stop at the Ministry. I'd rather not be in their shoes: dealing with Corley on today of all days."

"Agreed." As they came onto a steady road once more, Hugo threw his mind back to what his cousin had just said. "I told you what Firenze said, about visions?"

"Yeah."

Hugo leaned his elbows on his knees, and swayed slightly with the motion of the bus. "I had a dream," he said at last, "The night before last, before it all happened. James came into my room, and he was angry. He wanted to attack me. I couldn't stop him: I couldn't speak, I couldn't do anything. I was terrified." He glanced at Albus, who was looking away. Between them, Lily stirred in her sleep. "I was paralysed. And it made me think... that must have been how he felt that day, with Nott." In the long silence that ensued, he felt as though a weight was easing from his chest, leaving a lightness which almost scared him. He wanted to explain it, though he didn't know how. At last, he rubbed a hand on his jaw and spoke. "Maybe I _was_ James, in the dream. I think I do feel like him. Sometimes."

Beside him, Albus was nodding his head, even as he did not meet his gaze. Much more comfortable in the sounds of the Knight Bus - passengers chatting upstairs, the conductor whistling, the wheels screeching - than he would have been in utter silence, Hugo leaned on his knees and continued. "After he died..."

"Coming up to Godric's Hollow!" the conductor's announcement cut him off, and Hugo looked around to see a church steeple rising into the darkening sky.

"Better inform her Ladyship," he said, and they both jostled Lily awake as they got their bags ready. Not until they had gotten off the bus and stepped into the freezing air did Albus put a hand to Hugo's arm and pull him back, while Lily walked on ahead.

"George told me something."

"What?" Hugo turned. There was something in Albus's tone that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "What did he say?"

"It's a lot to believe." Albus Potter tilted his head, the lights of the village reflected in his glasses, and making the expression in his green eyes harder to discern. "But he says that when the shadows came for him in the Forest, he was saved by a Patronus. A silver stag."

Hugo gazed at Albus. Slowly, he shook his head. "Uncle Harry could have sent it."

"Maybe," his cousin said. "If he did, it was very good timing." As Lily called back to them, they picked up their pace. "Like I said, it's a lot to believe."

* * *

Daisy Abbott was wrapping presents when she heard a knock on the door. "One second," she called, with a mouth full of Sellotape, and pushed some shopping bags under her bed where they could not be seen. Then she draped the wrapping paper over the book from Flourish and Blotts and manoeuvred her sitting position so that she had her back to it. "Come in."

The door opened, and she saw Uncle Neville standing in the doorway. "Are you cold up here?"

"No," Daisy said, surprised. "No, I'm fine."

"Good, good. Er..." He scanned her room, as though he were trying to think of something to say. Finally, "The girls have gone out to the Leaky Cauldron to meet a few of their friends."

 _Hugo_ , Daisy thought, and then she was annoyed at herself. "That's... nice."

Her uncle nodded. "Since it's - you know - Christmas Eve."

"Yes," said Daisy.

"But they won't be long."

"OK." She looked down at the Sellotape she had dropped, picked it up again, and twirled it.

"Have you finished wrapping your presents yet?"

"Nearly."

"Well, I was thinking..." Neville rubbed his neck and directed his next words to the ceiling. "Hannah - er - mentioned that you were asking about your parents the other day. I thought, when the girls come back, they can keep their mother company and... maybe I might bring you over to Godric's Hollow? If you want?"

The disc of Sellotape dropped out of Daisy's hand and rolled across the floor, stopping at her uncle's feet. She blinked up at him. "But we only do that on the anniversary normally."

"Yes, well..." Neville bent and picked up the Sellotape, examining it as though he had never seen such a thing before. "I thought - maybe we'd change things up a bit this year." He glanced at her again. "If you want."

Daisy hesitated a moment. Then, "Y-yes. OK."

"Great." Neville smiled. He looked relieved as he moved for the door. "And come down if you're cold. We have a fire downstairs."

* * *

Number 12 Grimmauld Place was empty, as its occupants had left for Godric's Hollow. Everyone was spending Christmas there this year. Rose was dreading it. After she came home, she turned on the tree lights and went upstairs to pack. Two hours later she woke up, her cheek stuck to her pillow, to the sound of tapping on her window.

Cursing, Rose got up, steadied herself on the corner of her dresser, and opened the window to let in her owl. The sky was dark now, and lights gleamed in all of the neighbouring houses. She looked down, and saw Scorpius Malfoy standing on the path, looking up at the house.

"It's Nina, isn't it," she said frantically when she came downstairs and opened the door for him. "I _knew_ it - I knew something bad would happen. Tell me quickly."

"That's not why I'm here," Scorpius replied. They stood facing one another in the hallway. "Nina's gone to her parents' house. I've got to get home soon, too, to the manor."

"Me too," said Rose. She still felt half-asleep - nothing seemed to be making sense. "I'm supposed to be in Godric's Hollow for dinner, with everyone. I haven't even packed."

"I'll help you," he said, stepping forward, but she was already climbing up the staircase again, and called over her shoulder,

"It's fine! Just turn off the Christmas tree lights for me, will you?"

She stumbled into her room and took a deep breath, surveying the disorder there. Then she glanced in the mirror and smoothed down her hair. What was wrong with her? It was only Scorpius. He had seen her in all kinds of states. He had seen her...

Rose shook the thought away, and took out her wand. Her suitcase dragged itself out from under her bed and fell open. Pairs of socks flew out of her dresser and into its folds. Towels rolled themselves into narrow bundles and followed: dresses folded their arms and fell with a whish of fabric. Hairbrushes - high heels - books -

"Rose?" she heard Scorpius calling from downstairs, as she was trying to remember what she had forgotten.

"Yes?" She turned towards her half-open door.

"I've turned off the lights."

"Thank you," Rose shouted, and raised her wand again.

"Rose?" His voice sounded a bit closer. She went out to the landing.

"What is it?"

"Well, I did want to talk to you, you know."

Rose reached the edge of the landing and looked down. He was halfway up the staircase, his face turned up towards hers. She sighed and leaned her chin on the rail. "She's told you, hasn't she? I can't do it, Scorpius. I can't do it. I can't help her."

Scorpius leaned his back against the banister, and did not drop his eyes from hers. "I think you can."

"Well, you don't know," she said, and then, shaking her head, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to snap. But I can't do it."

"It's because of your mum, isn't it?"

Rose watched him for a moment, and said nothing. Scorpius went on, "Do you think there's a connection? Between what happened to her at your cousin's wedding and what happened to Lysander Scamander?"

"Of course there's a connection," Rose murmured, straightening and moving to descend the stairs. "It's _him_. But I can't think about that now. It's too much."

"I'm sorry," said Scorpius, unexpectedly, and she stopped a few steps above him. He shrugged his shoulders. "You said it months ago, about Nott being in Egypt. I didn't believe you."

"At least he's far away," Rose said without thinking, and then she shut her eyes tightly. "But Nina..."

"She's Muggleborn, and so's your mother," Scorpius said in a low, measured voice.

"Yes, I thought of that too." Rose kept her eyes closed.

"So do you think Nott..."

"Of course. His father was a Death Eater." Her eyes flew open again. "But I don't mean..."

Scorpius held up his hands. "Rose. It's OK."

"But I don't mean to say that your father - "

"My father," Scorpius said, "is hardly perfect. He _is_ in Azkaban, after all."

Rose came down a step. She paused, with her hand on the rail. "You know I want to help her. Nina. But some things are beyond our control."

"Who told you that?"

She looked down at Scorpius, surprised. He was smiling at her. Suddenly she wanted to close the space between them. She came down another step. But he didn't move. He just said, "Nothing is beyond _your_ control, Rose."

Rose stared at him.

"You can do anything. I honestly believe that."

"I..."

"You saved my life."

Rose looked down, because she felt like she might cry. "You never talk about that."

"It's not easy to talk about. It's not easy to understand. I could feel myself moving away, and you called me back. I'll never understand it."

"Me neither," she whispered.

"But I do know one thing." Scorpius grimaced, looking away for a moment as though he had tasted something bitter. She took the opportunity to study his face, half in shadow, half in light. "You made sacrifices for me, Rose. Not just then, but with your family."

"Of course I did," she burst out. "I love you."

The statement hung on the air between them. Scorpius did not move forward and take her in his arms, as she wanted him to. And when she took another step down, he moved back. He did not look at her as he said, "I love you too. You know I do. But it's not the same. You've done more for me than I could ever hope to do for you."

"Scorpius - "

"I've got to go." He reached the bottom of the stairs. "My cousins are on their own back home. Tobias might have burned the house down by now."

"Scorpius - "

He smiled at her as he zipped up his jacket. "Merry Christmas, Weasley."

* * *

The house at Godric's Hollow was full to bursting with Weasleys and Potters, Hugo's mum, who was trying and failing to make stuffing, had gone through at least three meltdowns, and in the past twenty minutes, two separate arguments had broken out between Victoire Lupin and Molly Weasley II as to which of their children had been sent the toy broomstick by Santa. Now everyone was crowding into the kitchen, talking over one another as they tried to help, so they didn't hear the doorbell ring.

It was Hugo who finally answered, when he escaped into the hall and saw the outline through the frosted glass above the door. "Well," he said, pulling the door open and putting his arms out for her. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever show up."

Rose frowned as she hugged him, as though she were thinking about something else. "Everything OK?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled by her shoulder.

"Fine," she said, pulling away. "I just had the strangest conversation with Scorpius."

"Scorpius?" Hugo repeated.

"Yeah, never mind." Rose looked down, straightening his tie. "You look nice. New suit?"

"Oh - er - yeah," he said, looking down at his grey blazer. "I bought it in Gladrags."

"You look so grown up."

"Grown up?" Hugo repeated, raising an eyebrow, but before he could challenge his sister on her choice of words, Lily appeared behind him, beaming.

"Rose! Happy Christmas! Welcome to the insanity."

"Yes, I could hear the shouting from down the street."

"Well, you're here now, thank Merlin."

Hugo followed the two witches, and stood at the threshold of the kitchen, watching the many greetings. He watched as Rose went up to her mother at the stove, kissed her, and took another apron from the hook, tying the string around her waist. He watched as Albus showed Victoire's little girl the proper way to pet the cat, while Lily and Ron tried to distract Molly's son before he threw another tantrum.

At school, Hugo was the centre of everything. It was always strange to come back and be reminded that he stood at the edge of things. Then again, who could command any kind of attention where the Weasleys and Potters were concerned? There were simply too many of them. When they came together, there was bound to be chaos.

* * *

There was no snow this Christmas Eve, at least not in Godric's Hollow. But Daisy Abbott remembered a time there had been. She remembered her little boots sinking right into it as Uncle Neville led her by the hand. Below her white, above her white, with just one grey line of clouds in the distance.

That had been a long time ago. Now they were not holding hands, and having long outgrown her blue cap and mittens, she wore a white duffel coat, with her hair tied at the nape of her neck. The sky above them was dark, not blue, and it was not even very cold, though every now and then a bitter wind blew dead leaves around their feet. Uncle Neville walked a little way ahead of her, looking back once or twice and then to smile. Soon, she was smiling back. It started when she heard the singing coming from the church.

A door must have been open somewhere, but she couldn't see it. For all she knew, they were heavenly voices drifting towards them on the evening air. She didn't realise she had stopped until Neville turned back.

"What hymn is that, Daisy?"

She tilted her head, listening for a moment more. Then, with a widening smile, "I think it's _As With Gladness Men of Old_."

"Ah," said Neville, and he listened for a moment, too. "Lovely."

They walked on, side by side now. At the gate to the graveyard, they passed an elderly couple and exchanged solemn nods. The smiles dropped from their faces. The singing had stopped. Before them stretched a long row of headstones.

 _Crunch_. _Crunch_. Daisy's feet felt heavier on the gravel with each step. Names floated past her. Some were obscured by lichen. Some stood out in white letters on gleaming black stone. She wondered why she had agreed to this. She wondered what her father might think, if he could see her here now. Visiting her parents... but then, they were still her parents, weren't they? Did everything have to change now that she knew the truth?

She didn't know. Her face screwed up with the effort of thinking about it all, and she did not remember where they were supposed to stop until Neville put a hand to her elbow. "Have you got the flowers?"

Daisy Abbott nodded, crouched down, the hem of her coat brushing the ground, and placed the bouquet below the stone. She made herself read the names before she got to her feet again. _Cyril Abbott and Adela Abbott._

"Let's take a moment," said Neville, and they did. Daisy listened to the sounds around her: the distant crunch of feet as other families visited graves, the occasional gust of wind through the stunted trees that grew in the church yard, the creaking of the gate as it swung back and forth. She tried to feel something.

Too soon, Neville stirred. "Ready?"

They walked out in silence. Daisy listened in vain for the singing from the church. Instead she heard footsteps, coming up closer and closer behind them, and then voices. They had just passed out of the gate when Neville startled her by turning and saying, "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas," returned a few different voices, and as their faces emerged out of the growing dusk of the graveyard, Daisy instinctively backed away a step. There was Ginny Potter - Albus and Lily - Ron Weasley - and _him_. Hugo. She could not look at any of them. She stuffed her hands in her coat pockets and wished that Neville would go, even as he kept talking and talking.

Soon came the suggestion of mince pies at the Potters' house. It was either Lily or Ron who ventured it first. It was certainly not Hugo, who had been silent the whole time. Once or twice, Daisy felt his eyes on her.

"Oh, no," said Neville at once. "No, really, I know your house must be full - "

This was shouted down, with something to the tune of, "The more, the merrier."

"But Hannah is expecting us - she's at home with the girls - "

Gentler protests met this, followed by inquiries as to Mrs Longbottom's health, and concluding with the assurance that they might stay only the required length of time to eat a mince pie, drink a glass of mulled wine in their hand, before taking their leave.

"Well - " said Neville at last. Daisy made the mistake of meeting his eye, which seemed to encourage him. "Maybe we'll stop in just for a minute."

* * *

The Potters' house lay on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow, a twenty-minute walk from the graveyard, which was an inconvenience that none of the party had mentioned, and that no one but Daisy seemed to mind. Swept up in the tide of Potters and Weasleys, she had not said a word the whole way. Now she gazed up at the cottage. Friendly candlelight flickered in its upstairs windows, and shapes passed across the closed curtains of the windows below. She could hear raised voices and laughter.

A Christmas tree stood in the corner of the porch, and the scent of pine needles wafted forth to greet Daisy when she stepped inside. "We have visitors!" called Ron Weasley as he opened the inner door, and in response there came a rush of footsteps down the hall and the sound of several people talking at once.

Neville looked embarrassed again when Hermione and Rose came forward to hug him. "I'm sorry I haven't got anything - we're only stopping for a minute - "

"Nonsense! It's wonderful to see you!" cried Hermione, in a voice that was only slightly too shrill, and she turned to smile broadly at Daisy, who was regarding her with awed eyes. "You must be Neville's niece! Isn't this your first year at Hogwarts? I heard my son has been tutoring you!"

Daisy was opening her mouth to reply when Ron Weasley stuck his head back into the porch. "I'm getting some mulled wine. How many mugs?"

"Two, I think, love," Hermione said, once she had glanced at Neville for confirmation. "And they'll have mince pies, too. Won't you?" She bustled on into the hall without waiting for a response.

"Sorry, Mum's a bit stressed today." Rose Weasley spoke in a low voice, leaning towards the guests. "I told her to relax this Christmas - it isn't even our house. But she doesn't know the meaning of a holiday."

"I knew we shouldn't have come," Neville said, with an anxious look.

"No, no, no!" Rose cried at once. "It's Christmas Eve! We always have guests on Christmas Eve. Come through, come through. _Hugo_." Her brother, who had been slinking off towards the hall, stopped in his tracks. "Take their coats."

Hugo turned back reluctantly, his brown eyes meeting Daisy's for the first time. By the time he had taken Neville's coat over his arm and moved to help her, she had shrugged out of her white coat and unwound her scarf from her neck. Their hands only barely brushed as he took them from her. She adjusted the long sleeves of her green dress and looked away.

They were steered into the drawing room, where a fire was blazing in the hearth and there were so many conversations going on at once that Daisy could not hear herself think. There didn't seem to be anywhere to sit down, until Rose twitched back some curtains to reveal a deep windowseat. Outside, the reflected fire danced in the garden like a fairy light.

Daisy perched at the edge of the seat to leave room for her uncle, but he moved to the fireplace to talk to George Weasley. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Hugo reenter the room, stop for a moment as he saw that there were no empty spaces, and finally come to sit next to her.

"Here you go!" Bearing a porcelain mug, Ron Weasley came up, smiled vaguely at Daisy as though he could not quite remember who she was, and passed it into her hand. "Hugo, you having one too?"

"No thanks." His voice was quiet, but its reverberations seemed to reach right into Daisy. She shifted where she sat, watching as Ron moved away to join Neville and George. Beyond them was a group of who she assumed were Hugo's cousins, and on the couch sat an elderly couple, talking to Ginny Potter. Rose was nowhere in sight, and she could not see Hermione Weasley, either. A door stood ajar at the far end of the room, and someone was tinkling at a piano - she could hear it whenever there was a lull in the conversation. She wondered who it was.

Daisy took a sip of her mulled wine. The spiciness caught at her throat and made her cough. She put a hand to her mouth and glanced at Hugo, but he was not looking at her. His eyes were fixed on some distant point, and he kept fiddling with his tie. Suddenly she felt annoyed. He was sitting next to her and couldn't think of a single thing to say? It wasn't as though she had asked to come here. So perhaps she hadn't been exactly friendly last time they had met. So what?

"Where's the bathroom?" she asked him abruptly, and he turned in surprise.

"Er... upstairs, second door on the left."

"Thank you." Putting down her mug, she rose from the windowseat. As she waded through the drawing room, she felt his eyes on her back. Several others looked at her curiously as they moved out of her way.

Out in the hallway, there were a couple of small children at the foot of the stairs playing Gobstones, but they were too absorbed in their game to pay her any attention. She stepped over them, climbing the steps past one of the candlelit windows she had seen from outside, and came up onto a quiet landing. Her heart gradually slowed, her shoulders relaxing.

 _Second door on the left._ She should have gone straight there. But passing the first door, Daisy saw a chink of light under it. A voice drifted out to her, its urgency stopping her in her tracks. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Mum, if you just listen to me for a second..."

"I _have_ listened to you! And there's nothing more to say!" The voice was Hermione Weasley's: it had the same strained quality as when she had greeted Daisy and Neville downstairs.

"But this is important. Don't you see that? You've got to tell me what's going on."

"We have _guests_ downstairs, Rose," Hermione snapped back. "It's Christmas Eve! This isn't the time or place to be talking about this - "

Daisy drew back, shaking her head. This conversation was not for her ears. She knew what she ought to do: go to the bathroom, then head back downstairs and find her uncle. Go back home, and get out of this place where she did not belong.

But instead, she simply checked the stairs behind her to make sure no one had come up, and then bent her ear to the keyhole once more, her hand curling around the doorframe for support.

" - I told you about Nina," Rose was saying. "I told you she's sick."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Rose, but that has nothing to do with me."

"It does." Rose Weasley's voice was low and fervent; Daisy strained to hear it. "Mum, it _does_."

There was a pause. For a moment, Daisy was afraid that they might burst out of the room and come upon her eavesdropping. But instead, she heard a long, heavy sigh. "Rose, whatever you think you know..."

"You're sick. I know you're sick." Rose sounded on the brink of tears. "You never recovered from the poison. It did something to you. And now you've - you've - "

"Careful, Rose..."

"You've lost your magic." Daisy went utterly still.

" _Rose_." But Hermione Weasley's voice had lost its sharpness, and she sounded utterly defeated.

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" demanded Rose.

Daisy drew back. She hurried to the next door, and shut it behind her. The bathroom was large, with a clawfoot tub, fragrant soaps and soft towels on the shelf above the sink. She splashed water on her cheeks and looked up into the mirror at her dripping face. Laughter echoed up through the floor, and voices from next door.

She had to forget what she had just heard. It was the only thing to do. But William Corley's face kept floating in her mind, and it made bile rise to her throat. Daisy staggered to the toilet, braced her hands on either end of the seat, and retched a few times without anything coming up. When she got to her feet again, her mouth was dry, her eyes stinging.

Downstairs, she found her way into the drawing room blocked by the children, who were now playing with Extendable Ears, and so she walked through the kitchen instead, one hand to her stomach. The smell of food made her want to retch again. Neville: where was Neville? Daisy pushed through the next door but found herself in a kind of parlour. One wall was covered in bookcases, and sitting at the piano was Albus Potter, playing a tune she did not recognise. It was heavy and mournful, with long pauses in between each chord. She listened, tilting her head, until he saw her and stopped.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I was looking for..."

"Oi, why did the music stop?" From the adjoining room came Ron Weasley. He was red in the face and grinning broadly. "Go on, Al, keep playing for us."

"Leave him alone, Dad," Hugo said, appearing in the threshold beside his father. His eyes found Daisy, and flicked away again quickly. "He's tired."

"I am, a bit," said Albus, rising from his stool. "Why don't we let our guest play something for us?"

"No," said Daisy at once. "No, I couldn't..."

"Don't be modest, I've seen you play before," Albus Potter said, a strange expression in his green eyes as he regarded her. To his uncle and cousin, "She's very good."

"Well, then we _have_ to hear her, don't we?" said Ron, who still appeared to be attempting to place Daisy.

Where was Neville when you needed him? "I don't have my sheet music with me..."

"Oh, go on, play anything - "

"Dad, _no_ ," said Hugo, and there was something in the way he said it - with a kind of finality - that fired up Daisy. In an instant, she had strode over to the piano and pressed down a white note.

"I can't play without my music," she declared, and then, folding her hands behind her back as she turned around to face them, "But I can sing."

* * *

What was he supposed to say?

He didn't know where to begin. So he didn't try.

All the way back from the graveyard, when he had to take her coat, and when they had to sit down together, he was at a loss. She was the last thing he had expected today. He wished his father was not quite so free with his invitations - not that they didn't like Neville, of course - but Mum was already under pressure, and... and anyway, Daisy didn't even look like she wanted to be here. She was sullen and silent. Perhaps if she had given him an opening, instead of just sitting there, he would have said something. But she didn't. And so _he_ didn't.

Hugo had fully resigned himself to the possibility that she had simply left early when he saw her again in the parlour. And then Dad had to put his foot in it again - because of course, it wasn't enough that he had invited her to the house without even knowing who she was, now he was trying to make her sing, too. Of course she didn't want to - of course -

The song was one he had never heard before. He would have remembered it, for sure. She stood there before them, stiff in her green dress with her hands behind her back and her chin thrown up, and simple words became sweet swells of sound as they left her mouth. As she sang, the tension in her body seemed to uncoil, one hand coming to rest on the piano beside her, while the other moved to straighten her skirt. Her voice climbed up and down slowly, alighting on each note like a butterfly on a flower.

Hugo began to think of strange things. He thought of being a small child and running past houses that towered into the sky like great castles, of sitting on a swing while Rose pushed him, of laughter and food on Christmas Day, of his father's smile when he said goodbye to him on Platform 9 3/4, of his mother crying.

When it was over, he blinked, like one waking from a long sleep. There were cracks all over him, hollowed out by her singing.

What was he supposed to do?

* * *

Daisy had not sung for a long time, not in front of an audience, so she was afraid of many different things when she started: of her voice cracking or fading out completely, of getting the words jumbled, of being too quiet… Yet as soon as she opened her mouth, somehow those worries melted away. The melody rose and fell of its own accord. She did not want to stop. But finally there was silence: immense silence, and herself at the centre of it. The walls of the parlour seemed to have expanded around her so that she felt she stood in a vast cathedral of echoes and sighs.

The applause was subdued. When Daisy looked around, no one would meet her eye. They all started talking to one another again, in a great burst of noise that mocked her. She got away as quickly as she could, running out through the empty kitchen. A profound moment had become muddied, mundane, and she imagined what they were all saying about her - how vain she must have been to push herself forward to sing - how uncomfortable she must have made everyone - how she and Neville had overstayed their welcome.

It was cold outside, colder than she had been expecting, so that even the escape from the oppressive warmth of the Potters' house brought her little relief. Daisy's run slowed to a walk, and she halted on the garden path a few yards from the kitchen door. An icy blast of wind blew loose strands of hair over her face. She stuffed her hands under her armpits and hunched her shoulders. When the door creaked behind her, she thought she discerned her uncle's step, and said flatly,

"Let's go home."

The steps advanced behind her, and in another instant, warm arms had gone around her waist. A familiar scent reached her, and Daisy turned her head very slightly to see a grey blazer sleeve encircling her left side.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was faint.

"Thank you," Hugo said, very quietly, as he tightened his grip on her. Daisy squeezed her eyes shut for an instant, and then, with an effort, detached herself from him. She turned around so that they were facing each other, and he slowly lowered his arms, looking uncertain.

"I thought you hated it."

"I didn't hate it," he said.

Someone inside the house was sobbing: the sound reached their ears in the quiet garden. Daisy glanced towards it, as her heart thumped out a frantic pattern in her chest.

"I should go home. This is your... family time. Have you seen my..."

"Stay." Hugo reached for her arm as she made to move past him. She met his eyes, swallowing, and there was a soft look in them that made her go very still. "Just for a minute."

Daisy was not arguing. And as Hugo drew her into his arms again, she knew that her heart was beating so loudly that he must feel it, too. But he said nothing, one hand resting on her waist, the other on her shoulder.

After they had been standing like that for a moment, she gave a contented sigh, much to her own embarrassment, but it only made Hugo clutch her tighter. "Stay," he ordered again, his mouth close to her ear, and Daisy relaxed against him. She turned her head so that it was resting against his shoulder, and one hand came creeping up his back. Hugo drew a sharp breath, and suddenly, by a slight movement of her head which angled her ear towards his chest, Daisy heard his heartbeat, and realised that it was as loud as hers.

* * *

The sound of the wind rattling her attic window on Christmas morning made her think that it might be snowing again. She kept her eyes closed for as long as she could, because she was afraid that she would be disappointed when she finally opened them.

But the rustle of something on her bedclothes eventually piqued her curiosity, and she sat up, rubbing her eyes. It was a slim package, carefully-wrapped. Her heart began to thump. The happiness that set her skin tingling and her stomach fluttering scared her more than a little. She thought she must have dreamed that moment with Hugo yesterday - it couldn't have been real.

Daisy tore open the green wrapping paper and found a couple of piano books, with leather bound covers and frayed edges. Her hands stilled. She did not know what to feel. At last she opened the first book, traced a hand over the music, and lowered her face to smell the new pages. As she did so, a note slipped out into her hand. It had beautiful handwriting - handwriting which she knew was not Hugo's.

 _This music was a friend to me in hard times. Until we meet again._

 _Merry Christmas, Daisy._

 _Your father._

* * *

 **Music:** Daisy's song - "The Last Rose of Summer", Thomas More, Edward Bunting


End file.
